I read some verse from Muze and it was deep & poetically insightful. It opened my own eyes. Sometimes you really don’t know what you are missing until… loved, once… i was in love once… my thoughts, chaotic, ran in circles leaving her but always coming back i was not alone its over now. as over as it can be. but every now and then a word might be said or a gesture made or the light strikes her in just the right way… and i’m in love again. and that’s when it hurts. ’cause it over. fini

don’t laugh. just looking at different ways of manipulating my images. i love shooting and i love interpreting my images artistically in various ways. i think i am off to a rocky start here but bear with me. more is coming…

a pictorial moment…

a locs and curves moment…

An extraordinary set of images captured by a Photographer in Singapore I know only as TungTong. What I have here is only a few of the incredibly rich images. You can check out the whole set here.

While I was working on this second and final tribute to E.M.P.ress’ lost locs, my favorite poet was busy creating verse for one image that had inspired her from a previous posting that just happened to be a part of this set. Coincidence? Fate? I don’t know. But it made for an interesting entry. This lifetime you’ve warmed no one’s feet but idly tend your tresses, instead of rice. Yours is the patois of cowboy and cowry. You cast yourself from swings with the planter’s daughter. Later taught her the letters and sounds. A thing of light and shadow you are what the Lady dreams,...

We were in a living room that felt like a cool jazz set when I took these shots. I was trying to get a feel for a shoot I wanted to do in the future that focused on this fascinating aspect of LL’s character. You see, she’s a jazz bassist, whose secret identity is that of a med student. To say she is busy is an understatement. But we kicked back and talked. Relaxed and came up with a couple of ideas for shoots. I’ve Already shown you one of them here. This is the other. The names on the shots are Jazz Musicians she admires. I think I want to incorporate their music in the...

a pictorial moment…

That window, even screened, allows lady beetles. Luck sprinkles the ceiling. Magazines and perm rollers litter your flat like so many sweets beaten from a donkey. But right now, little matters except butter. Butter, you hope, will armor you: against the city’s parasitic grit, against your bus mate’s accosting grin. The coarsest of sentiments slipping past manilla teeth. Morning breathes her last. Your metronome quickens as the wind hijacks Adhan, presses traces of worship against your hips, and trails you to the door.