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long shadows

October 26, 2013

long shadows

because shadows are fascinating
captured at flinders street station nearly a year ago. i was just getting off a train and walking up to the main station hall and found the bright setting sun dropping long shadows on the floor.


December 26, 2012


November 14, 2012

LEAVE, let go of my hand

September 21, 2012

what god had wrought when he made life so sad

September 12, 2012

We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad.

Jack Kerouac, On The Road

one way or the other

September 12, 2012

Mississippi Gene began to sing a song. He sang it in a melodious, quiet voice, with a river accent, and it was simple, just “I got a purty little girl, she’s sweet six-teen, she’s the purti-est thing you ever seen,” repeating it with other lines thrown in, all concerning how far he’d been and how he wished he could go back to her but he done lost her.

I said, “Gene, that’s the prettiest song.”

“It’s the sweetest I know,” he said with a smile.

“I hope you get where you’re going, and be happy when you do.”

“I always make out and move along one way or the other.”

Jack Kerouac, On The Road

hobo by choice

September 12, 2012

William Holmes Hazards, who was hobo by choice. As a little boy he’d seen a hobo come up and ask his mother for a piece of pie, and she had given it to him, and when the hobo went off down the road the little boy had said, ‘Ma, what is that fellow?’ ‘Why, that’s a ho-bo.’ ‘Ma, I want to be a ho-bo someday.’ ‘Shet your mouth, that’s not for the like of the Hazards.’ But he never forgot that day, and when he grew up, after a short spell playing football at LSU, he did become a hobo.

Jack Kerouac, On The Road

that strange red afternoon

September 12, 2012

I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was – I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was half-way across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that’s why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon.

Jack Kerouac, On The Road

what were you so sad about?

September 12, 2012

-What were you so sad about?





we are SHADOWS of ourselves

September 10, 2012

don’t you trust nobody…

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