resistance, uprising, #occupy

A video montage I put together containing some of the most powerful images from the Occupy movement and other recent protests, meant to document OWS. Even if you don't support or agree with Occupy Wall Street, there are some undeniably powerful stories and images. Photos are set to the song "Uprising" by Muse.

"Døpe as Fu¢k"

"I can't believe you're leaving."

I can't really believe it either. It's weird, like I'm here but not...in limbo and disassociated from everything, like watching as an objective observer.

I'm the type where it's not really happening until it's happening. I alternate between feeling overwhelmed and sad (although avoiding sadness might be more accurate) - trying not to withdraw from people before I actually leave by becoming distant or disappearing in an effort to somehow reduce the personal impact of missing those here that I love and care about. The excitement is currently on hold while I make the necessary preparations, pack (lol, meaning: play with pictures or write blogs), try to make it through the last week or so without imploding. Fear and doubt creep in but I know it's simply not an easy thing to do, to pack up and move your entire life. Yet people do it every day.

One thing I can say with absolute certainty is that every incredible thing that has happened to me or that has been a catalyst for unparalleled growth in my life has stemmed from a leap of faith. Facing fears, delving into the unknown, moving away from home, getting sober, walking away from unhealthy relationships...all of it. And not by virtue - because I felt like it or it seemed the right thing to do - but by the gift of Grace, then by necessity and now, every so often, because it's the right thing to do. (For me) Grace comes with a responsibility (to god).

And of course I meet a girl just before I leave. It can't really go anywhere but of course I do. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful...I just think god has an interesting sense of humor. Wow, sorry. Not sure where that came from but I know there are a lot of feelings involved at the moment. I probably shouldn't be listening to OK Computer.

So. I know there is a plan, everything is ok and it will all work out the way it's supposed to. I haven't been carried this far to simply be dropped. And trust me, there's been a lot of carrying. Doing my best to remain consistent and present, not leave anyone out, not be a selfish prick and/or make it all about me. Thank you for your continued patience in this matter...

Carolina (in soft focus)

28 Reasons Why 28 Days Later Is One of the Top 28 Movies of Our Time

1) Rage. Anything with zombies or zombie-like creatures is automatically golden and therefore extremely viewable.

2) Directed by Danny Boyle (Trainspotting).

3) Cillian Murphy's (Batman Begins, Red Eye) breakout performance.

4) Incredibly moving, thorough soundtrack - it works to further the movie and as a separate/individual recording.

5) All-encompassing and ambitious statements on: the human condition, loneliness, isolation (U.K. is, after all, an island - don't think we missed that) and despair; hope, love and redemption.

6) Unique and innovative cinematography.

7) Building drama, suspense and fear without being over the top, campy, unrealisitic or pure ridiculousness.

8) The sequel is on par with the original.

9) It rocked the box office by pure concept and stirring a great deal of curiosity through intelligent visuals. All with little marketing and a cast of virtual unknowns.

10) People who don't even like "horror movies" love it.

11) Everyone in it gets what they deserve.

12) Startling and original portrayal of an abandoned metropolis (London) and the possibilities, debris and chaos that accompany it. All without overdoing it and spending too much time on one scene.

13) Jim's ability to keep his own humanity in tact throughout the evolution from frightened and clueless to reluctant hero to total badass.

14) Jim's fierce determination to overcome insurmountable odds and return for Serena and Hannah.

15) Serena's transformation from complete cynicism and utter self-reliance to lack of control and dependence; ultimately a complete reversal to hopefulness and parity.

16) It makes even the most hardened, jaded horror fans jump in their seats.

17) Eye gouging. Not in a purely gratuitous, sickly gratifying way but as one of the greatest visceral mechanisms to demonstrate survival on a sheerly animalistic level.

18) If you watch it with a member of the opposite sex (or same sex, for those who are so inclined), they will quite possibly cling to you or jump in your lap throughout the entire movie, with little or no effort on your part.

19) The depth of the characters makes you become enthralled with them and care what's going to happen.

20) For as dark a film as it is, there's humor, lightness and a great deal of hope in it.

21) It's brilliantly layered, i.e. a movie that you can watch more than once and each time you see it, something new is revealed.

22) It's British. Some may argue semantics there but it's quintessentially British. And British means good.

23) In an early scene, a priest infected by rage gets popped in the head by Jim with a bag of soda cans. Whether you're religious or not, there's just something secretly funny about priest bashing.

24) Very early on, Jim is shown the writing on the wall in the form of a quote, "the end is extremely fucking nigh."* They didn't fuck around with subtlety but more importantly, the theme of apocalypse is treated in one of the most original, imaginitive and least expected ways ever seen on film.

*Note: The phrase 'The End is Nigh' derives from a man who could often be seen walking up and down London's Oxford Street wearing a sandwich board bearing the phrase. The meaning was purely religious - he was warning of the 'impending' Christian vision of Apocalypse - but the phrase has since entered the popular consciousness as a slightly derogatory term for someone or something warning of impending doom.

25) Poignant, fluid and extremely well written storyline. You're not checking your watch or thinking about the phone calls you might be missing.

26) You really, really grow to dislike the antagonists although their twisted logic makes sense on some level and almost allows you to become sympathetic.

27) A truly solid film. It's classified as horror and is, in many parts, horrific but it's simply a great all around movie. Period.

28) Again, zombies or zombie-like creatures.

Why Cops Don't Make Good Artists - a true story

My routine has developed into a somewhat regular one which means that Wednesday night is "photo adventure night". I take a night off from everything else, pack up my gear into a shiny, foam padded, gun metal grey and black metallic case including: camera, lenses, lense caps, spare batteries, flashlight. The first night I went out, I forgot to bring extra batteries and as always, was getting some great stuff towards the end but had to keep turning the camera on and off, praying that it would hold on for one last shot.

I had been talking with a close friend about my thing for tunnels, construction sites and quirky/cool architectural phenomenon so he mentioned that Sepulveda tunnel might be a good spot. It's over by Mulholland south of Ventura; I make it a habit to head south on Sepulveda, never north! North = bad. Excited, enthusiastic and ready to go "shoot a few rounds off", I had my ducks lined up as far as wrapping up my work at the office, making the necessary phone calls and such. I had planned to make it a full night and hit three locations; two at least depending on traffic, if I saw anything good, etc. The first was a park at Coldwater and Mulholland which turned out not to work so well. It ended up being late and too dark by the time I got there and there was also a film crew shooting. I messed with them a little bit since sometimes it annoys me when they close something down, especially if it's somewhere I want to be at the same time. I don't have anything against industry people in general but I thought it was funny to ask the guy they elected to stand at the park gate if they were permitted, where security was and stuff like that. He thought I lived in the area, which made me chuckle a little bit (considering what the houses look like up there), so I pretended to and went along with it. He tried to say that the park closed at seven but I mentioned if that were true and enforced, then what were they doing filming there. Eventually I told him I wouldn't be there long and wasn't going that far down the canyon to interrupt them so we were cool.

I moved on to the spot I was most looking forward to - the tunnel on Sepulveda. There wasn't much choice as far as parking went so I found a little indent on the shoulder just south of the tunnel by about fifty feet, where I thought my car wouldn't cause any trouble. Of course the sign said no parking anytime but this is Los Angeles, right? It must have been more than an hour that I was taking pictures and I was really into it, waiting for cars to pass so they would be out of the shot, trying different approaches, angles, lenses and camera settings, standing on tiptoes and hugging the walls with my back as I felt and heard the cars pass - either honking with approval (or disapproval) or because people love to honk their horns in tunnels. I know I do.

I felt it was time to leave but I stumbled on a camera setting that was really working for me so I pushed it another fifteen minutes. I remember thinking it was strange that I hadn't seen one police car pass the entire time I'd been there, especially since everyone was racing each other at 100 mph. I headed back to my car and was about to close the camera case when I looked up and saw the lights in my rearview. Shit. They rolled up stealth with no sirens and I didn't even see them coming.

A few thoughts raced through my head; I wondered how much the ticket would be for the no parking zone, how I was hungry and had to use the restroom, thought about the last time I got pulled over (speeding...my first real citation in California in over ten years, besides a DUI). No one likes the feeling of being stopped by the police but I was grateful everything was in order: registration, full coverage, proper tags, licensed...the cop came up to my window somewhat apprehensively and asked me with a look of astonished accusation why I was taking pictures of the tunnel. I answered that they were for artistic purposes to which he fired back a look like "that does not compute". Why would anyone do such a thing. He then asked what I did for a living to which I thought, "would it be better to say photography?" My actual reply was that I did background investigations in the private sector. I like to think we're kind of on the same side, police and I.

For about half an hour, it didn't occur to me where this line of questioning was going or why the policeman seemed so cautious. I didn't notice his female partner either who popped up a little later to ask me to keep my hands on the steering wheel the entire time. Dammit, my nose kept itching, I kept wanting to check my watch and it was uncomfortable being squashed up in my little two seater unable to move for fear of them thinking I was up to something. About midway through it dawned on me, "oh, taking pictures of tunnels", someone must've called in on suspicion of terrorist activity. I'm somewhat familiar with the routine when they go back to the police car, run you through their system and check out your information so I had a feeling this was taking longer than usual and it wasn't just a moving violation. Being asked to keep my hands on the steering wheel was a little clue as well.

I respect police, what they do, how hard their job can be and certainly try not to invite that kind of trouble. I also realize what kind of position they're in dealing with all kinds of strangers - from complete wack jobs to routine traffic stops - and that while I know I'm not a terrorist or bad guy...how do they? In this day and age, it's not so easy to tell by simply looking. Here are the highlights of our conversation. Towards the end I asked him what was really going on with the whole thing and when he told me, some of the tension dissipated and we both relaxed somewhat:

"Do you have any aliases?"

"Yes, I go by Tommy."

"What is your race?"

"Caucasian."

"Do you have any tattoos or other markings?"

"Yes."

"Describe them."

Fun part. "Well, this might be easier (pulled sleeves on sweatshirt up)...flames, celtic cross, chinese character for love. I also have a pinup on my back left shoulder."

"A pinup? Male or female?"

"Female. It's pretty hard to describe but I got a painting my friend did on my upper left bicep. Hmm...I guess it's like a blue girl if that makes sense."

"Do you have any gang affiliations?"

"Um...no."

"Have you been arrested for any crimes other than your DUI?"

Thought quickly, do I mention the one in '94 in Ohio? No. "Nope, just a drunk."

"What's the name of the company you work for?"

I provided the name and address as well as my phone number. I noticed he was filling out what looked like a little white index card and that's when I asked what was really going on. He responded that it was an "information card" and proceeded to tell me that I had a warrant from my DUI conviction in 2002 but that they said not to take me in on it. I wondered who "they" were for a moment, looked up at the sky and thought, "thank you!"

He and I talked a little more freely for a minute and I told him I was sober, a hobbyist photographer and liked to blow off some steam after work by taking pictures. I liked tunnels for their geometry, the fact that they look really dark and creepy at night and if you shoot them at the right angle, they look like they go on forever. Then I blurted out, "if you check out my MySpace page, you'll see what I mean with the creepy lighting thing but you probably don't have a MySpace account, huh." He didn't seem to take offense but remained puzzled as to why on earth someone would want to do this. Trying to explain why I do what I do to an unsympathetic ear was difficult but at least he appeared open to the dialogue and to his credit, didn't become agitated. The last thing I threw in was that in Los Angeles especially, people take pictures of all kinds of stuff from graffiti to crackheads to architecture (inlcluding tunnels). I asked if he thought it was a good idea to continue taking pictures of tunnels and he said probably not.

"Even in daylight."

"Probably not."

The impression I am left with is that it may not be such good judgment to take pictures of tunnels. Ever. At least in plain sight in Los Angeles. If you have any photographer friends, you may want to share this story! It was around eleven or so when I got home and I was completely exhausted shortly after but a little perturbed that I couldn't work on the awesome pictures I just took. Interactions with police make me feel like I'm doing something wrong even though I'm not and I, like a lot of people, dislike the nervousness and tension that goes along with them. Not to mention the inconvenience of being "detained". My entire body tenses up and I feel that fight or flight mechanism throughout. I don't really have a strong opinion about the whole thing either way but it certainly raised some interesting questions and was one of the more surreal experiences I've had. Wondering if it had gone further, wouldn't that be an interesting trial of first amendment rights - freedom of expression vs. public safety and homeland security. Thinking about my love for W, doing his part to further (debatable) paranoia and perhaps eventually needing a press pass to take artsy shots of a tunnel. And here I was under the impression I could take photos of pretty much anything I wanted, barring small children of course.

All in all, I'm grateful the people that guide me have shown me how to clean up my messes (speaking of, maybe I should check out that bench warrant situation!) and have my things in order so I don't have to freak out when I see those lights in my mirror...how to practice restraint of pen and tongue so I don't make a situation worse than it needs to be. I repeated the serenity and third step prayers; although they didn't calm me down like they normally do - they enabled me to take a look at how the situation might have went had I been drinking or using and how poorly I might have handled it in the past. I'm curious whether or not I should be concerned with the "information card", what databases I may end up in, what I say in emails and phone conversations, and repeating this story. The fact that no unmarked vehicles with government plates showed up (yet) to whisk me away in the night on a vacation to Guantanamo is a huge bonus. I didn't even get cited for the no parking thing; they just told me I could go...looking up and thinking, "thank you!"

The Kidnapping (warning: adult content)

When he finally threw me on the bed, all protest had been stripped from me by the sharply delicious sound of a riding crop. I don't think I ever had much of a choice in it really. It wasn't the drinks we'd had earlier that evening as neither of us were big drinkers, it was more like he sensed the tucked away, neatly folded, secret part of me that I wasn't aware of until he acted on it. His will simply swallowed me up and in handing myself over I felt completely free.

Dress-up wasn't exactly something new to me, I'd had the usual requests - cheerleader, french maid, nurse. The more standout seemed a bit awkward but time and experience always seem to soften perspective. The initial shock and surprise of this particular night weren't things I had felt in a long time, maybe since the last "first time", but in a way the blurry suspension of my defenses was what allowed me to trust him and be his toy.

It started out like any other date, a nice dinner in a romantic setting. The place was warm, atmospheric and there was a fireplace that lulled me into blissful relaxation. I don't remember the conversation as much as the tone, soft and pleasant with a hint of playful. He wasn't looking at me exactly, it seemed he was looking into me which didn't make me uncomfortable but revealed a more penetrating interest. Looking back, his gaze was deep and involved, not like getting to know someone or knowing about them but being inside them, knowing them from the inside out. That excited me.

All night he had been the perfect gentleman, holding doors, ordering the best for us from the menu, not getting pushy with the wine. It was no exception as we left; he insisted on letting me in the car and waiting to shut the door for me. Before it closed, I thought I caught a glimpse of mischief dancing in his eyes and that's how it really began.

We arrived at his luxurious house and I felt an immediate change in him that was to dictate the rest of the evening. As we pulled in the driveway, he told me very straightforwardly that I was being kidnapped and in order to make it, I had to do exactly as I was told with no exception. His instructions would be simple and clear but as long as he remained pleased, everything would be all right.

I heard him rummaging around in the trunk and wondered if this was real but I didn't dare move. He was back quickly and before I could open my mouth to say a word, he began tying my hands and ankles together with duct tape, wrapping them over and over and delighting in each slow circle. One final piece was carefully placed on my lips as he said, "this should be fine until we get inside."

Strangely enough I didn't panic, probably due to the fact that he wasn't being forceful, just masculine and powerful enough to let me know who was in charge. As he lifted me out of the car to bring me inside, I decided to test my restraints and wrestle myself free but let out a muffled moan when I found there was no getting loose. He had done too good a job. He looked down at me, smiled and shook his head as if to say, "don't resist, you're not going anywhere but you'll enjoy it."

Once indoors, he carried me effortlessly up a flight of glossy wooden stairs and set me down in a hallway. There were a few entryways leading to rooms lit brightly enough to peer into, but it was hard to make out where he was headed and what he was doing as I lay on my side. Hovering somewhere behind me, his footsteps sounded slow and deliberate. He took his time, letting my helplessness sink in. Drawers were opening and closing in the distance, it seemed like half an hour had gone by when the clicking of his heels grew louder and as he approached I heard the sound of ruffling cloth, like something was being passed back and forth between his hands.

Kneeling beside me, I couldn't see him but felt his knee push very suddenly into my back as he dropped a corset and some colored rope in front of my face. My mind was racing, I kicked and pulled struggling to break free but it was useless, like trying to cut through handcuffs with a spoon. I felt the the heat of redness rushing to my face and the pressure of rope slowly biting and tearing its way into my skin as he tied me. He stopped abruptly for a moment, I felt his hand lift my dress and knew his eyes were slowly burning their way from my feet, across my legs, all the way up to my ass. A sigh of approval and sheer enjoyment escaped him, I could tell he was savoring his prize.

The moment after he finished tightening my bonds, he bent over me. I was motionless but breathing heavily as his hand reached out to pinch my nipples, one after the other, harder each time until I couldn't distinguish between the tautness of rope and my own flesh. There was no will left in me but the desire to do his and my body shuddered as a wave of pleasure rolled over it. This was an entirely new dimension for me and I loved it.

My panties were soaked but it seemed he intentionally avoided touching me for the time being. I didn't understand then that it wasn't just about sex or at least the kind of sex I was familiar with. The buildup was starting to boil within me, an enticing elixir of his keen attention and prolonged torture. I was off in another world and didn't notice the spanking he was giving me at first. He had propped me up on my hands and knees, the tingling burn jolting me and the smack of his palm pushing me little by little down the hallway. Soreness steadily yanked me back into fierce reality as the relentless stream of slaps continued. I knew there had to be welts forming but the way he was punishing me over his knee made chills of pleasure run up my spine.

We finally reached an ornate mirror at the end of the hall and he whispered into my ear that he was going to free my hands so I could undress and put on the outfit he was dying to see. It took a minute for the feeling to come back but as it did he had me reach my arms out and laid the corset in them. Cold and soft, the silk soothed my wrists where the rope had burned and I marveled at the lustrous cornflower blue and delicate fleur de lis pattern.

As I put it on, he told me he loved the way it cinched my waist and pushed my breasts exactly as he wanted. I'd never worn a corset before and imagined they'd feel constrictive or choking but that wasn't the case at all. Looking in the mirror, I relished the way it accentuated and firmly gripped my body. I felt I was gleaming in it, like icy feminine armor. My victory was shortlived however, something hard and smooth had wrapped around my neck and was dragging me into the bedroom.

I found out soon after that it was a riding crop. The hard way. So I guess you could call it my first kidnapping, but certainly not my last.

Photo courtesy Eve Ellis; Corey "Mr. T" Thompson

Cliff Diver

Like a jay or cardinal,
she lands her feet on the edge
careless and swift;
without thought.
She creates it.

The relentless ground beneath her,
an extension of her tense legs.
Her jutting jaw, as rough as rock.
Hair swirls about on bare shoulders;
the silk strands at times
catch the air like tiny fingers
or whips that, with their lashes,
hush the wind itself.

As she throws her head back,
an impartial moon plays upon her face.
The smooth, angular planes
form a pyramid in the night.
Her eyes reflect the silvery light
as if they were liquid,
like the body beneath her.

But she takes no notice
of the moon,
of the wind,
of the cliff
on which she is poised.

She dives off.

Image courtesy Aimee Matthews

Self-Imposed Limitation

I've suffered enough. I've hated myself enough. If someone treated me the way I have I'd kill them. No amount of those things has ever made me enough. Today I am enough.

All the things I've relied on to keep me separate from God, living my life and having fulfilling relationships with other people have been removed one by one. Not always easily, willingly or without defiance but at some point certain things stop working. There's a reason they call it "hard living". No more escapes: alcohol, drugs, isolation, self-censorship. No more lethargy and oversleeping or pumping myself full of caffeine then wondering why I'm overly anxious and can't sleep. A little awkward at first and for a while I asked myself, "so what do I do now?" It's one thing to know you're free but to allow yourself to do the things you want to do and feel that you're worth enough to stop depriving yourself of them is another entirely.

There's a building next door to mine that is under construction. For weeks I've been thinking about going over there, for some reason I have a thing for industrial settings and construction sites. Last night I went commando and hopped the fence to take some night shots with my camera. In the past, whenever I had an idea of something that would be cool to try I would skip out on it saying "I'll do that later", "that's not something someone like me does", or "what would people think?". Later turned into many years but now I finally get to take advantage of all those little ideas and give them a shot. Life has so much to offer when we don't suffer silently, censor or rob ourselves of experiences that are completely within the realm of possibility...we come to realize there's really no good reason not to experience them. There's still so much time and so much I want to do. It's when I stop dying and start really living that the amazing becomes the everyday.

WTF IS THIS???

Long story short, I've been a closeted writer for years and thank God I NEVER throw anything away, starting from high school creative writing class. I've recently rediscovered my passions as they had been misplaced for a while and decided to finally put them out there and see what happens. Everyone else seems to be doing it, so why can't I?

I'm also into photography. Have a lot to learn but I may or may not have an eye for it. I was never really good at drawing or painting so for me it's a powerful and simple way to express myself visually rather than in words - which I'm most familiar with. I've picked up a little of this and a little of that thanks to wonderful friends and amazing people who've availed their knowledge and resources to me over the years. This is the result.

It seems a perfect avenue for me to showcase the two, which by the way I hear the kids are calling "photoblogging", along with striking imagery from some of my favorite artists: Aimee Matthews (mixed medium, painting, photography - she does it all) and Eve Ellis (legendary pinup/fetish model), both amazing at what they do.

It's a work in progress since I'm consolidating a library of writing and images from other places while working on new stuff.

Enjoy and let me know if anything here makes you feel SOMETHING.

Be Well,
T