i like to tell stories

The One Minute Before Midnight | Please Press Play Or Listen Here

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JONATHAN EMERGENCY PLAN

TO RECEIVE YOUR MAP, PLEASE TOUCH THE TITLE ABOVE OR PET THE KITTY BELOW

This Piece Of Jonathan Costs $25 Purr Song

I had not seen them in years. I have not seen two since. I have known them 19 years.

The one I know the least, I saw the day before I left New York City. I didn’t realize it was her till after I was already staring and she turned just so. Her name came to my lips yet I said nothing as I watched her walk away, just steps away, just steps out of reach.

July 4, 2005 | July 22, 2005 | July 4, 2005

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We were on the roof of an expensive apartment that belonged to people I did not know. There were fireworks in the sky and as they evaporated into the night, everyone started leaving the roof. After a short while, it was just she and I, standing there in the dark, looking out across the city alone together for what seemed like a very long time. We occasionally told one another stories. It was that kind of night.

A Short Drive

DENARRATION – The Process Whereby One’s Life Stops Feeling Like A Story

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“Lucy”

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July 7, 2010 | 600 Seconds

(Sour Grapes) | I’ve Never Liked Grapes & Now I Remember Why | Please Press Play

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Sometime between 4th, 5th or 6th grade, I was lying on the floor of my parents living room watching television. I cannot remember how it started, but before I knew what was happening, my mother, my father and my older brother were holding me down and one was shoving grapes in my mouth. Everyone was laughing and I can remember how awful the taste and texture was.

Tonight, this felt the exact opposite of that awfulness that was the last time I ate grapes.

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July 7, 2010

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July 5, 2010

 
I stayed in a hotel room once. This hotel room had a window and this window was made of glass.

Underneath this piece of glass, there was an air conditioner. One side was hot and one side was cold.

This was a long time ago.
 
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(please press play to hear and see both)

 
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July 15, 2010

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July 15, 2010

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September 13, 2010

September 14, 2010

September 15, 2010

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One Man & Another

2003

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July 7, 2010

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July 16, 2010

2 Minutes 19 Seconds | 11 Seconds

A Day It Could Have Happened

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August 9, 2010

Left behind or stolen and or both, I cannot remember, the source was the same.

July 15, 2010

Where I Like To Rest My Face In The Room In Which I Lie At Night

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July 9, 2010

4 Other Men Unaware

6 Days In July

Two Different Nights In April I Could Only See Violet When I Looked Through The Trees

April 13 & April 4

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One night, I heard a yes, you can see and share. One night, I heard a no, only you cannot hear as I share.

I Stare In Awe Like A Child | September 21, 2010

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C5 | C5

2009

My Home & Yours

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I had heard a story of a private water boarding for erotic pleasure. I had seen a photograph on the internet I thought was water boarding. I had seen a video on the internet of a famous reporter being water boarded. All fascinated me. All I found flawed for various, different, important to only me reasons.

I wanted to know what it felt like. I had seen and heard of it done this way and that and chose the one I thought I should. The head is wrapped in plastic wrap, tightly. The head is tilted back and a small pin prick sized hole is placed in the mouth area. Then, water is trickled in this hole. If this water is not swallowed, one cannot breathe. This is the point, this is moment of panic. This is what I wanted.

In all my attempts, 7, maybe 8, maybe 9, I only experienced this panic in passing. My hands were unbound working the camera functions, I knew in my brain it was not real and I trusted who was there, completely, to not let me die. My attempts were troubling, but also flawed for various, different, important to only me reasons.

What I did not expect is what watching it did, doing it did, to the woman helping me. She asked me stop. Repeatedly. She refused to continue. Repeatedly. I saw a look on her face unlike any other.

It was one of the most complete feelings of love I have ever felt, even if she never said that love out loud while I knew her. Even when she was shaking and crying, asking me to stop.

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please press play

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July 9, 2010

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July 9, 2010

What My Phone Looks Like Not Ringing

(I stole that image)

2009

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Wellcome SKYN Inn

One Stain On One Rim & Another On One Other One

58 Minutes

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She said to me, “I’ve never been with you in public before.”

I had been busy, I didn’t answer my phone upon all the rings and texts from my father. He never stopped trying all night. When I finally answered, he told me he was just making sure. When I told him what I was doing, he said to continue by all means. My doorbell rang two days later. The neighbor was standing there. He asked me if I smelled the odor between our homes the past day or two. I told him that I did not. Then he told me that he was just checking on me. I went outside and together we could not find the source. I lose track of time sometimes, I wish I didn’t.

August 22, 2010

The Many Moons Of Whom

One Man Standing Alone

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July 10, 2010

New Jersey

Pennsylvania

My Name Is SARA & I Want Your Flag

2d 19h 31m

May 12, 2010

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I had driven a really long way to see this place. I had heard so many stories, I wanted to make my own. Today, only after I arrived, did I see that is was not open. I kept going back and back till I got in. Then I did. I went in, I got out, I looked around and waited till I was dry. Then I went home.

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August 27, 2010

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The Birth Of KH

I got an email from her first, a friend of a friend of a friend. She asked if I would like to photograph her nude or nude and painted white or maybe in the shower or maybe all of these things. I said of course and a few weeks later without even having met each other, she was here and she let me photograph her. I didn’t tell her what to wear or what to do after that really. I just let it get quiet and awkward. I told her I didn’t really know what I would do with these or why I wanted to make them to which she simply replied, “Just look at them.” Then she smiled.

CJ – see all 30

30 of 1045 photographs | All October 5, 2008

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July 2, 2010

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July 2, 2010

September 4, 2010

I stopped to make a photograph of myself and then I walked away. Moments later there was an intense pain all over my lower body and up my legs to my hips. I looked down at myself. I had unknowingly stopped in a fire ant bed. I have more scars now then I can now count. I cannot shake them off me.

This is what B looked like when I asked her to shut her eyes. This is what I looked like when I heard too much.

March 27, 2010

Thank You B

Small Minds Condemn Anything They Fail To Understand

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Some Days Of August 2010 | Various Rates Of Speed | Days It Could Have Happened

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Smoke

I Made Just One Photograph Today | 4:24:31 PM | A Day It Could Have Happened

Undated

2010

July 14, 2010 | 20 Seconds Apart

July 7, 2010 | 7:47:32 PM | 2m 28s Till The Set

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My company and I were in a bar bet over looking the gulf. We had cheated and written our non-guess on the chalkboard in between all the other guesses for when that sun would leave us. I kept looking to the left to see that water and look for that oil out there from this idealistic town of wealthy white people. I had never been here before but had seen this place once in a movie. I wanted to photograph the view. I like sunsets. Between that water and I she sat, in front of my bar stool view. The first time I put the camera to my eye, only after putting my camera to my eye, I noticed she was looking at me and touching her own breasts sitting right there at the table. I put my camera down and pretended I hadn’t noticed. I waited a few moments and turned to try again, this time she was again looking at me and whispering to the older man next to her, once again, looking right at me. I tried one more time to see my view and made the image above. I photographed right at her this time, damn that set.

Two minutes and twenty-eight seconds then passed.

It was now 7:50 PM, my company won the bet, a free drink. It was collected and again we sat on our bar stools. I turned one more time to make a photograph and she and her group were now gone. At 7:52:39 PM I made a photograph of that water and looked for that oil out there from this idealistic town of wealthy white people.

I Do Not Know If I Am Her Toy Or She Is My Toy

&

I Am Learning To Find This Beautiful

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July 5, 2010

She Will Never Tell Me Or Otherwise Let Me Know

My Brother Standing Near A Monkey

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July 4, 2010

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July 2, 2010

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The Hand Of My Grandmother 29 Years After The Death Of My Grandfather

DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

Oxygen Makes Things Green

DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

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July 2, 2010

1998

1993

Story May 1, 2010 With A Photograph From Many Years Prior

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She took my hands and placed them where I did not know I was allowed to place them. How do they make their skin feel the way it does, there is no other feeling, or scent, quite like it. It lingers and when I say it lingers, I mean that I like it and that it feels nice. Nothing else about these moments I can say bring me joy, not even a little. Yet there I am. I can make up reasons why, but tonight, well, would it make a difference…

It was only a place to be that was not where I am, well, so I shortly pretended. This pretend of mine, it was so thin it was invisible.

July 4, 2010

(this story has been removed)

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July 19, 2010

Daily Drop Cap by Jessica Hische

Between The Time I Made These

Two Women Whose Eyes Appear Closed On My Birthday | 2009

542 Days Ago, I Could Not Have Imagined What 190 Days May Bring

October 30, 2010

In June, 126 days ago, I shot my last competition before today. Shortly before that, something happen that changed how my brain saw targets. I had just had the best competitions I ever had, I went from A class, to AA, here in Texas. (Just understand, that is not easy and that many people who want to, cannot). In that last competition in June, I was 51st of 86 competitors. In 6 of my competitions prior to this, here in Texas, before what changed how I saw targets in June, I was 2nd, 3rd, 1st, 2nd, 2nd and 4th.

I have shot less than 200 targets since June, when I used to shoot 250 in a day.

A man I had never met to my east, who I consider a friend, was going to nationals. I’ve been to nationals 4 years in a row. Now I live here and I had no intentions of attending until he told me he was. I signed up for one competition, I wanted to meet him. We met and he watched me practice. I missed, a lot. I told him I just needed to wake up and that maybe my focus would come. Then shortly before our separate competitions were to start, we parted ways to clear our brains. When I got to my car to go from practice to real, he had left this on top of my car, it was a surprise. That’s the kind of man he is.

Today, I shot a 53 of 100 targets. I was 115th of 130 at Nationals. (Unofficially)

A year ago, at Nationals, same event, I shot an 87 of 100 targets, I was 4th of 92. (Officially)

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This is what the more expensive half of a $12,000+ shotgun looks like sitting in the sun on a dashboard of an empty car next to mine in Texas. I noticed this as I packed mine away, put the all the different locks all over it then drove home and put it in a deep closet. I have no competitions scheduled.

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7 Minutes

Facts Of King Edward

The Source Of My Father Seated Before Me, Waiting In The Green

Two Men Alone Waiting Not Near Another | August 15, 2010

One Bird In Flight | August 16, 2010

Before I slept and after I awoke I photographed birds in flight, not 100 yards from where I last photographed a bird in flight on the last day of the month of my birth. I then went the opposite direction of my home to a place where no home would welcome me. I made photographs in this place all day but only 3 for me in this city I’ve barely met. When I entered my chariot to return home, it informed me it was 109 degrees. I cannot be sure but that may be warmest temperature I have experienced. Inside me my blood was boiling.

Two Birds In Flight | August 15, 2010

Two People Having Their Portrait Made | 75 MPH | August 16, 2010

The Portraits I Made That Day It Could Have Been | 0 MPH | August 16, 2010

I Was There

June 30, 2010

July 9, 2010

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All The Prints I Have Left Evaporate

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July 8, 2010

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July 8, 2010

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July 8, 2010

East – 1999

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We had been together almost a year when she left. I never see it coming, even when I think I feel it. She knew I made photographs when we met and many years later when we connected, she knew and watched me make many more, of her, all the time. The last time she contacted me first was right after she left, she wanted to come over to my home, for she had a request.

My buzzer rang and I let her in. It was like it never was between us and for me, it felt awful. I knew I couldn’t tell her no, about anything. I opened the black box on my desk and handed her my sharpest scissors. She sat down and started going through page after page of my negatives. I never made contact sheets and never have, I always just edited directly from my negatives. Now I was watching her do the same. When she got to a negative she didn’t want me to own, that she wanted to take back, she started cutting. Edge to edge, like a shredder, over my garbage can. I sat there a few feet away, just watching. I didn’t know what to say and what she was doing seemed as odd to me as allowing me to photograph her in the first place, certainly if this is all that was left that she wanted from knowing me. I wanted to ask her, why, if she doesn’t like what I make or how I make it, was she ever even here. Then as I was about to ask, I realized, the answer wouldn’t make her stop cutting and it wouldn’t make her love me back. So I waited for her to finish as quietly as I could.

When she was done, she just looked at me and said, “The box you keep your negatives in is really beautiful.”

Then she left.

I saw her one more time at a party I then abruptly left. I think I saw her two more times in the streets of New York City, but it was from far away, so I cannot be sure it was really her. In the next ten years of living in NYC, I avoided her neighborhood the best I could, even after I heard she moved away many many years before.

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Where One Orange Wall Meets Another Orange Wall, Underground – 1999

1997 – I had just moved to New York City, I was broke. It’s the same story you’ve heard again and again. At one point I thought I was going to have to leave. So I dropped work off at MOMA for review and hunted down everyone I wanted to meet. One of these people I sought out was a photography book designer. She had just designed a book of boxers by one of my favorite photographers. So I sought her out and found her. She shared a space with the guy who printed for an even more famous photographer we all know of. The space and the people in it seemed icons to me and I wanted to meet them. Learn something before I maybe had to leave. So I called and shockingly enough, the designer agreed to meet me. I brought her my latest boxes of photographs of this and that, and one I wanted to make a book of, even had a dummy of this book ready to share. A book of photographs of portraits and landscapes revolving around the only woman I had known and loved to this point in my life. A woman in Texas I kept returning to, again and again, year after year. No matter what happen in her life or mine, when I came to Texas, we were together and I photographed it.

I stepped into this classic New York space and showed her the images. I can remember her looking at each one. I can remember her being polite and interested. All I can remember of the conversation today, was the one question she asked I couldn’t clearly answer. She said that the photographs were interesting and well made, but who cares? A woman left me and I felt bad and made photographs about it. It happens all the time, to everyone, someone they love leaves. So what.

All I could think of at the time and in the moment, was, she is right. I went home and put the book on the shelf and more or less abandon it. I’ve made photographs in some of my relationships since and some where I did not. But I never made a book about a woman I knew I would never see again, after she was gone, again.

I don’t know why it took me so long to know, that the reasons she said who cares, is exactly the reasons I want to make a book like that, again. Maybe I miss understood her point.

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Today at dinner with friends, there was an empty chair. I caught myself turning to talk to you where that empty chair was. Today while driving home alone, there was an empty seat next to me, I caught myself turning and talking to you out loud.

We ate together countless times, we only drove together once.

31 Years

31 Years

July 4, 2010

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Waiting

June 27, 2010

Two Men Standing Alone At Two Intersections | 4 Hours Apart, 1/2 Mile Apart

August 17, 2010

One Man Standing Alone

July 21, 2010

Tonight I said the worst thing I have ever said to someone, I didn’t want to believe it.

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I said this out loud, to them, while I was lying on my back staring upwards in a very dark room.

My Ears Filled With Water | 9 Photographs I Also Made This Day

This day I was also bitten to have my blood drained, 9 times.

A Day It Could Have Happened

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July 29, 2010

July 14, 2010

Everyday

August 7, 2010

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August 7, 2010 | 6m 12s Apart

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August 8, 2010

July 26, 2010

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This is the land of my blood, this is how Texas loves me.

July 8, 2010

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Waiting

July 5, 2010

My Mother

July 9, 2010

July 19, 2010

I read the label, it clearly stated, “WARNING: Do not inhale or put in mouth!”

July 23, 2010 & July 24, 2010

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Today I was again taught that the most beautiful things of which I am capable of creating, that I wholeheartedly always give away, have no effect on why their existence actually happen.

So I made some more.

I threw my phone down.
I ran to the window.
I tore down the curtains.
I forced that light inside my eyes.
I waited for my phone to ring, again.
It did.

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One Woman Holding A Phone Waiting, One Little Man Playing, Only Hours Before

A Day It Could Have Been

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All July 30, 2010

HUGE DISCOUNT | August 12, 2010

Speaking of sticky fingers…

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You bit my ass?  I totally didn’t remember that…

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Imagery Analysis Squadron

You will process imagery and produce imagery by-products collected in the support of the U.S. government involvement in the Open Skies Treaty.

We received your application material for the vacancy referenced above.  Although you possess excellent credentials, another candidate has been selected whom management feels is more suited for this specific position.

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Recommendations in Drama

 get personalized recommendations from our wide selection in Drama. The more movies you rate, the better your recommendations will be.

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We are looking for images of the city ________ in California:
-inner city images, historic downtown
-mayor ______ ______
-________ __________ (__________Police Officers’ Association President)

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I NEED YOUR HELP with the SEO (search engine optimization)
In a nut shell the more people who check out this site the better I will be rated on Google.
The more attention my site gets, the quicker I will be found and get business.

If you have a few computers at home, at work, or even smart phones, ETC please do this from all them!!!!
If you can forward this email to friends, post on Facebook ETC. it would be sweet.

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You recently updated your Customer Contact Information; we want to make sure that was what you wanted to do. If you’re aware of this change then you don’t need to do anything else – we just wanted to let you know. Contact us immediately if you did not make any changes

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Ruben Natal-San Miguel wants to be friends with you on Facebook.

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It’s archaic torture by barbaric methods only in use due to a myopic “sick-care” system run by greed and ignorance.

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Combining adventure travel with an opportunity to improve photographic skills for people at all levels has been an appealing combination.

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Alcanza Photo (AlcanzaPhoto) is now following your tweets on Twitter

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From June 2007 to April 2010, Independent Diplomat provided expert advice on diplomatic strategy to Mehmet Ali Talat, the President of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC), in his efforts to create a united federal state on the island of Cyprus.  This followed the failure of the Cyprus settlement plan proposed by Kofi Annan in 2004; which Talat had successfully urged the Turkish Cypriots to approve, but which the Greek Cypriots had voted against.

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What a strange, amazing photo. I love those three, four fingers. I was just thinking about fingers.

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July 5, 2010 | 62 Seconds

DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

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I Saw You Bleed More Than Any Other

October 2008

July 8, 2010 | 1996 Seconds

I Cannot See Through Your Glass, Even With Both Eyes

July 16, 2010

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July 15, 2010

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June 29, 2010

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Today I received lines on my face I did not ask for.

June 28, 2010

i like to tell stories (1 of 5) | 164 pages of paper + glue + 10 pieces of lead

i like to tell stories (two, three, four, five, seven, eight) | on someone else’s floor

Ret | June 27, 2010

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I Was Not The Architect

A Long Time Ago

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The Lengths I Now Must Go To In Efforts To Protect Myself

&

The Lengths A Different Really Far Away Other Other Must Go To In Efforts To Protect Themselves From Myself

May 25, 2010 | My Brother’s Daughter & I

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There is restaurant I go to far too often. I cannot say I like the food, but it is close, it has a television (I do not) and there is always someone there I have seen before – even when I do not know them or want to. Yes, I go here when I am lonely.

The first month or two I did this, the same waitress was always helping me. She knew my order, she always smiled when she saw me and always told me just how she was feeling, even when it wasn’t the answer it seems a waitress should give, if only for the business.

As I walked in one day many many, many months ago, I told myself that if she was here today, I would ask her how she was, (as I always do – and mean) and then if feeling right, ask if I could buy her a meal, maybe meet me somewhere that was not this place, for something, anything. She was the kindest woman I had met here yet and there was no ring on her finger, I had checked.

She took my order and seemed down, so I asked,

“How are you, do you have the blues?”

“No.” She responded. “Being pregnant just sucks sometimes.”

I stood there a moment, perplexed, looking at her belly. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know.

I just learned she made a man.

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A month or two later, I was again at this restaurant. There was a woman in front of me with tattoos on her legs, interesting ones. I thought maybe she had more and I wanted to photograph them. So I asked her & she let me, right there. She said she would be into being photographed more and that she was a dancer. We had a really nice conversation. I wanted to have more and did not see a ring, I had checked. I gave her my card and she became someone I know on a social site. A day or two went by and I went to her page to send her a hello.

There, on the top of her profile, her latest update:

“What kind of man leaves his pregnant wife stranded with no gas because he is too busy “jamming” with his buddies to help? I sure can pick em! Selfish ASSHOLE.”

I sat there a moment, perplexed, remembering her belly. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know.

I never sent her the note I meant to and I never liked guys that “jammed” either.

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The lonely I have is not the one I have chosen for myself.

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July 5, 2010 | 11 Minutes, 2 Seconds

Today there was a man building a line in the place in which I live. Also today, Saturday, October 16, 2010, I received the last of these four gifts. This man gave me this cross. I went inside and placed it around my neck and onto my bare chest as I excitedly re-listened to the story that he just told me. It was important to him to tell me and it was important to me to listen. He told me of a story that changed his life forever told to him by a man named Nelson.

My Middle Name Is Nelson

Today I was X-Rayed, I was cleaned and I was drilled. This took several hours, all today, in two different visits.

The technician asked me why I had the camera in my hand and I told her why.

Then I told her every time she hurts me, I will press that button.

July 7, 2010

19 Sugar Cookies I Failed To Eat All Of | 10/10/10

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I had never stayed by myself with my grandfather before. He was baby-sitting me. My brother, my parents and my grandmother were all out. There was a small kitchen that had a bank teller like opening to the living room where I was watching TV. My grandfather called me into the kitchen where he was sitting as he did at the black kitchen table wearing just his white undershirt and black pants. He always sat in the chair that let him look through that opening at the TV. We were watching game shows, one show had a wheel.

He told me to get the chips from the cupboard. I did. Then he told me to get the pretzels. I did. Then the bread, the lunch meat, the soda and on it went, item after item. I got them all then sat down. He made me a sandwich and we ate together sitting there at the black kitchen table watching the wheel on TV through our window.

All the sudden as I was finishing my sandwich, he froze and then I heard it too. There was a car in the driveway outside. He started handing me item by item and telling me to rush, getting each back in its place as fast as I could. He saw the confused look in my face and told me that everyone had returned to pick us up and take us out to dinner. They cannot know we just ate. Just as I got the last item back, everyone walked in. My grandfather really liked to eat.

At dinner my dad kept asking me why I wasn’t eating. I didn’t tell him why until right now and this was likely one of my best kept secrets.

 
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I was at a store whose logo looks like a wheel, I found a tray of cookies that looked like a wheel and I had found a portrait of my grandfather from the food store he managed packed away in a lonely place a short time before. Once I had the idea, the desire, I had to try. I returned, I bought the cookies, I waited 24 hours without eating anything at all, I sat down and I tried to eat each and every one. I did this in the home of my grandfather’s widow. I failed this test and my ability to keep his secret. It feels different then I thought it would. When I ate my last orange cookie, I walked to my green couch and pretended to sleep in the orange light. I could not do that either but knew it needed to be done.

“.taerg oot si enola tfel eb ot erised eht nehW” | “When the desire to be left alone is too great.”

A Place That Is Not My Home, But Is A Place In Which I Stay

Sometime Or Other The Night Of March 26 Or The Morning Of March 27 | March 27, 2010 – 10:35:41 AM

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There is a wall in the place I stay that has two sides. These two photographs are on either side of this same wall. In one photograph, I can now see closed eyes in the reflection and in the reflected words, I can now see what was being thought. Both in a way I then could not have known, both I first saw on the internet and both for that moment and today, were a surprise even if I thought one was only once a theoretical possibility.

In the other photograph, I can now see open eyes where mine were once closed. This happen on the other side of this same wall in this place that is not my home but is a place in which I stay.

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There was once a line buried deep on both sides of this wall, fortunately & un-fortunately, it’s been removed for me.

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A pink flower wallpaper, a red towel that waited 277 days to be where it is, a blue nightlight that helps me see when I can otherwise not, that I keep moving around this place, a medicine cabinet I don’t use, a towel rack I never use, a towel rack I always use, a reflection that is not mine, two plastic clips that need tightening, a plastic shield that needs cleaning, a wood frame that holds it, a light switch I can never find, an orange glow, one large mirror I never photograph myself in because of that once theoretical possibility and not one wall, but three walls, one actual and two actual, reflected.

My Blue Green Eye

The Pink Dot I Learned To Make Out Of The Sun

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My desire to know was still true this morning. So I looked again exactly where I had been told. I stared at the map, now that clearly wasn’t right. So I looked where I had once been a farmer not so far away. Then I just looked at a better map. There it was, plain as looking at a photograph like one or several I’d once seen before.

My map’s North just hadn’t been a true one.

The Sun Without Any Color Through Glass

4 Photographs The Seconds After I Learned | August 6, 2010 | 8:44:50 AM – 8:58:26 AM

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This place I made these photographs is not my home, but is a place in which I stay. This is the second time maps made me instantly walk away from them so I could instantly make my own. This day it was three from the bedroom I won’t use where I could see the sun from inside. The last standing next to the steps in the hallway that leads there where I could not. The first time, I walked outside and let that sun hurt my eyes from a single place, spot and point.

Once

One Full Moon & The Pink Flare It Made | One Brother & Another | 4 Photographs | July 25, 2010

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I was in love, so I told her so. She told me that my love was like the kind of love one dreams of as a child, that it was like a fairytale. Then she told me, “I only got back together with him to get over you.”

When I was really young, my parents took me to see a performance of Peter Pan. I remember red theater seats all arranged at a vertical angle, so that every one seat could see the stage. I remember being confused that a woman was performing the part of a boy. I remember the uniqueness of this woman’s eyes. I remember seeing this woman and her unique eyes falsely fly around on wires and wishing that I really could. Years after this, I saw an entirely different version of a NeverNeverLand done on a stage. The creator, she called me only minutes before it debuted, but I knew I was not what was on her mind so I didn’t answer that call for the very first time. This Land I will not forget details of either, just as it was known I couldn’t and I’d want to, even when I dream like a child.

I don’t remember any part of these two Lands I experienced, or any other fairytale, making me feel like I do today.

Today I never wanted to be only a memory, accurate or manufactured or occasionally and frequently forgotten.

I never wanted so many of my fragments visible in a way that blinds me.

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What Can You Do, What Will You

38d, 15h, 57m & 33s | June 30, 2010 | That Other Day & Today I Was A Reluctant Farmer

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There is a place, that if you go, you will see, there is no more trace of me.

It is even like I was never really there at all any more, the after now is the same as what was before.

A True Story, Only Different

September 9, 2010

Two Men Waiting Alone, Two Men Walking Together

Made From The Driver’s Seat Of My Car As I Drove Alone | Once As I Drove & Once As You Drove

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Years ago I was at a small gathering after a screening. I was standing in a circle of three men, only one of which I knew. A fourth man walked up and joined our little awkward social circle the way it seems grownups do. I saw him immediately to my left but didn’t really see him as he was too close. The conversation broke and he turned and introduced himself to me, looking me right in the eyes as he shook my hand, “Michael.” “Jonathan,” I responded. I looked across the circle of us at the one man I knew. That man acknowledged with his eyes that yes, this Michael was exactly who I thought it was. It got quiet, I wanted to have a conversation with this Michael but all that could come to my mind this unexpected moment was to tell him thank you.

But I Didn’t & He Deserved One

We all stood there in this quiet little awkward social circle moment. A few more awkward moments passed and then we all walked away from one another, each one of us a different direction alone.

I Want To Go Skinny Dipping, I Have Never Been

Sitting here tonight when this song shuffled up, I tried to remember the year I stood in this quiet little awkward social circle, but I cannot. I can remember the first time I heard this song however, just like you probably can. The math of unrelated events tells me what is linked above was made within a month or two (or year) of this quiet little awkward social circle. He was wearing a different shirt the day we introduced ourselves to one another than the one he is wearing linked above. Tonight, I understand his shirt in a way I would not have then.

July 4, 2010

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DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

August 7, 2010

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Several Moments This Day, In That Line, I Shut My Eyes, I Put My Glass To My Ear

I Re-Listened & I Re-Listened To Try & Find Some Peace

Each Time, The Wife Of My Brother Struck Me

One Made Me Feel Loved

If I Touch My Scar Just Right, I Can Feel It In Places I Cannot Otherwise Reach

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August 1, 2010

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July 2, 2010

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July 9, 2010

Morning After Morning Curiosity Hasn’t A Right

One Crack Is Now Where There Used To Be None By One

So Many Things I Once Made Over And Over Often I Can Now No Longer

Once

Doctor

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July 15, 2010

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I Looked Up, I looked Down | July 15, 2010 | 37 Seconds Apart

Yours & Mine

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July 9, 2010

The Day Of August 19, The Night Of August 18 | 2010

3 Points Of Light Where I Otherwise Saw None | Day After Night

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This Is How I See Only A False Brief Beautiful, Not What Is Really There

A Reflection Of Me Looking Back At Me Not For Me

Remembered & Recorded To A Place I Cannot Know & Without My Joy

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On These Days I Photographed You, I Was Not

Spring 2010

Once | Once | Once | Once

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July 8, 2010 | 4:31:47 PM | 45 MPH

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August 27, 2010

Woman Who Made A Man

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June 24, 2010

I saw a circle on that wall.

I saw many more circles on a shield through that glass.

To me, this day, they were all only a target.

So I summoned all that I had inside me and then I focused so I could hit them each with all my might.

I stepped back and looked at all the cracks I could now see clearly only after impact.

I had not broken that wall, I had not cracked that wall.

All I did to that wall was tickle its circle and it only took my everything.

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July 15, 2010

AVERTISSEMENT:

Les armes a air comprime ne sont pas des jouets.

Un emplol fautif ou irreflechi peut entrainer des blessures serieuses, voire la mort.

Soyez reflechi-visez prudenment!

Balles a jupe en plomb-ne pas inhaler la poussiere de plomb ni semettre des balles dans la bouche. Se lavar les mains apres avair manipule les balles. Le plomb des balles est un produit chimiquereonnu parl’Etat de la Califonie comme etant une cause de cancer, d’anemalles congenitales et d’autres troubles de la fenction repoductrice. de la fenction repoductrice.

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Candy Aisle Purchase:
NET WT 19.75 OZ (1LB 3.75 OZ) 559 g BIG BAG York Peppermint Pattie

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July 9, 2010 | The Girl In The Candy Aisle

When I think of how your skin must feel to touch with my hand,
I get the sensation of cold crisp mountain water running through my fingers.

Two Men & One Woman Standing Alone

DIES SOLIS XI JULIUS MMX

12 Light Sources On Top Of 12 Towers

2 Moons, 23 On Lights

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August 17, 18, 20 | 2010

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July 15, 2010 | x4

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press play 3x below

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June 29, 2010

Pennsylvania, Date Unrecorded

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I was wandering around the offices at TIME Magazine. I didn’t really have a reason to at this point, the task I was there for was complete. I just liked being there. I walked down that hall of the photo editor’s offices, looking for reasons to say hello. I made my way down the hall and back again looking at the framed photographs on the wall, wishing one of mine would someday be there. Everyone was, of course, busy and I didn’t want to interrupt them, so I headed towards the elevators. As I walked by one door, I heard a “Hello Jonathan,” after I had passed. I stepped back and entered. I don’t remember what led to it, but before long I was sitting on a small couch, looking north up towards the other buildings of mid-town with a box of black and white panoramic prints on my lap. I had not seen this man’s photographs before today. He went back to work on his computer and I sat quietly looking through this box. Every so often, I would stop and ask a question, this man turned and answered, then went back to working on his computer. I looked at every single photograph in the box, handed him the box back and thanked him for sharing. I felt I had met him all over again.

I was at LaGuardia airport years later, waiting for my luggage. I had just returned from a journey and I was grumpy and crestfallen, just wanting to go home to my #1RN there in the city. Sitting on the edge of the luggage belt not looking anywhere in particular, I heard a, “Hello Jonathan.” It was again this man, he had just returned from a journey of his own making photographs in a far off, exotic sounding place. He was positively beaming.

This was the last time I ever saw him.

Jay

Deer Stalker | 12:03:43 AM – 12:16:00 AM | September 19, 2010

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Once, I had a stalker. Well, picked and plucked pieces stalked, not the actual me, just some of my things from this place you are reading. I give out a lot of gifts here, purposefully. It just never occurred to me they would be re-gifted.

Tonight I gift them back to myself.

I heard a noise outside. So I got in my chariot and drove after it. It only took 12 photographs in 12 minutes, 17 seconds for me to realize there is nothing I can do and it won’t ever ever, yes, ever ever stop (please say I for not the first time). So I quit and drove the 100 yards back home.

This is one of a revolving three female deer I stalked tonight, her name was Doe. Is, probably, rather.

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Doe, her eyes should be rolling. Doe, she should be laughing.

Doe, her eyes were transfixed in disbelief for these repeated patterns of specifics.

If I Look At Or Do The Same Thing Over & Over Enough, It Sometimes Becomes Some Other Thing

July 3, 2010

One Man Standing Alone | September 13, 2010

3 in 45s | September 13, 2010

2 in 30s | September 11, 2010

2 of 10 Attempts | September 11, 2010

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She was the one to bring us our nourishment. I saw it right away but it was not till the third or fourth visit I had the courage to ask. Once I did, I started explaining, she cut me off mid sentence and said, “My father is a photographer.” She said I could do as I needed. I tried again and again with each of her return little visits. I couldn’t get what I needed exactly, any of these momentary times. Then it was time to leave.

The Spills Of My Filling Stations | Me Standing In My Driveway

MAPS Spelled Backwards | Received August 17, 2010 – 11:52 PM

“Knowing what she wants is one thing, but being able to really GIVE IT to her is another altogether.”

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When My Own Email Address Sends Me Advice I Didn’t Know I Sent, Their (My?) Emphasis

I did not make any photographs this day, but I did MAKE ONE last night.

For years I had a daydream, a night dream, a fantasy, an insert spiritually-desirous word of grand proportion here idea. All these words over and over, as well as those that follow, become too common to adequately describe what we cannot otherwise whenever faced with an applicable idea of the magical. These words feel small even when I can’t stop using them, what other words are there.

In all those years, I never really thought this dream of any kind in me would happen nor put in too much effort to make it so, it was too big to even try. Then one day that idea, that dream found me and it felt true. That insert spiritually-desirous word of grand proportion here idea actually sought me out. This idea, this thing, this insert word, became more than I could of ever thought simply because of this place in which you are now reading. For a handful of a few brief moments, I actually touched this insert whichever word, with these, my very own hands that make the things you see here.

Right there, in this common enough spot above and below, this is where there was the first physical touch.

I made the above photograph a few days ago after being invited here by those that did not know the story, remember it or have any interest. Today, I was again here without those inviting me realizing that it was here, a year ago, only this time, it was actually on this day.

Shut your eyes, clear your thoughts, imagine your deepest, darkest, simplest, most true desire of the fantastical.

Then touch it, standing on any common enough spot you can.

A Couple Hours Shy Of One Year, To The Very Second, This Very Spot

July 7, 2010

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A few feet from this place of first touch, a few feet from this place of first face to face, on this same day of one year later, I found two women with their true desires on full display. One was on her way to acquiring wings of false feathers. She wanted to believe that her desire to fly was a true possibility. The other wore a reminder of what she believes her life is around her throat. She told me she wears this most everyday.

Me, I made these images and told this story.

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This is how my journey goes and this is how I try to fly.


– p.s.
The First Settlement

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Audio by John, Visual by Jonathan | Summer 2010

corpulent procyon lotor

One Little Woman Child Staring At Me

July 8, 2010 | 1:36:49 PM | 35 MPH

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August 28, 2010

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City Of Violet

I Try To Make Something Beautiful Everyday, Even Days Of Old Almost Forgotten, So I Am Not

We spent the day driving to see him through a large blizzard and were welcomed into a home like no other.

I Tell Short Stories Here, He Set The Stage For Your Best, Here

A Little Man Child Climbing Towards The Clouds

September 6 | September 9

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(created September 14, 2010 – 5:40 PM)

I found 7 real feathers and 1 fake one on August 31, 2010. There must be something wrong with the birds here in Texas or there is just one bird, still mocking me after it so long ago exploded with laughter, that the feathers from it’s combustion took this long to blow in the wind to my feet, day after day.

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One woman who once gave me a ride had a badge and a gun. One other woman who once met me also had a badge but had two guns, on her. (One purse, one ankle.) One other woman than those two I once had lunch with told me a story of a magical bullet during her training to get her carry permit. Three women, four guns, welcome to Texas.

So I asked the next woman who gave me a ride if she had a gun, on her, she said no. I was almost disappointed until in the same breath, she told me, “I have a knife.”

She took it out and handed it to me without really even letting go of the steering wheel. I burst out laughing as the handle was made to look like a feather. I cannot escape these feathers now and my laughter was not a laughter of humor. I opened it as we bounced along down the road, trying to photograph it in the dark. Before I even realized what I had done or if it hurt anywhere on my body, I accidentally dropped it, blade open, in the moving bouncing car, in that dark.

I then stopped laughing, I was not physically bleeding.

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This is the land of my blood, this is how Texas loves me.

When Properly Motivated By Her Own Will, She Has The Ability To Ignore Me That Astounds

July 3, 2010

The Son & The Grandson Of My Grandfather

July 3, 2010

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Taco Cabana® | June 25, 2010 | 10:59 AM

I say, “No, I am not a police officer.”

The Test I Took Online Asked Me: – Do You Always Feel The Need To Have A Story To Tell?





“I like the way he writes, but he is a very unique fellow, very unusual fellow.”

– so sayeth of me a woman I never heard of or met, 9/9/10, 4:24 PM

September 1 – September 2 – September 3 – September 5 | 2010

June 23, 24, 25 | 2010

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I Remember Too Clearly Everything That I See

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We were all sitting together on a deck overlooking the gulf. Up there in the air was a small old yellow war plane. It would go out towards the water and then swoop through that sky then come back straight at us, low and with it’s air show smoke turned on. It did this on our position twice and then we forgot about it and just went back to looking at that emerald water.

A few minutes later, we saw a patrol boat go screaming through the no wake zone at full speed. I told everyone it reminded me of the patrol boats in the Hudson only minus the machine gun mounted on the bow and how I would like to spend a day on that boat.

A few minutes after that, not but a few miles from the deck we had been on and less than one mile from where I was staying on the beach, we saw many more emergency vehicles on the water, the beach and the road. The crowds along the beach were all disturbed and lost in embraces.

That old yellow war plane had just gone down. Everyone on this beach by where I was staying saw it happen and the images of that yellow fire floating on that emerald water are on the internet should you desire.

The story we heard for the rest of the week in the places we went and from the people that were there was that there was to be a wedding the next day. The pilot was the father of a bride to be and that bride to be had been watching that old yellow war plane when it met that emerald water.

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July 2, 2010

(these images are not that plane)

I was sitting across from her at the table, trying to not stare. We’d only talked once before, too briefly and now I was talking too much. I remember all our stories, they all had their own moments, yet this one story of hers is still ricocheting around days later a little more often than the others.

She told me of her recent pistol shooting lesson, that she was shooting metal plates, at close range, as part of her training. That is when it happen: PLINK, one bullet struck the target, flattened, received even more heat than the pistol alone had created, bounced up into the air, arced back towards her and landed down her shirt coming to a rest against her skin, inside her shirt. Yes, right, there, in, the, middle, of, inside, her, shirt… burning her skin, badly, with every moment it rested in all that beauty. She dropped the pistol and removed, knocked, bounced that melting burning magical bullet back out as fast as she could.

I asked to see the scar she described to me this magic bullet had created. I thought it sounded rather lovely.

She said no.

August 23, 2010 | 4 Photographs All In A Row

1 Melting Red Crayon Next To Her Car – 1 Map Of Italy On The Opposite Side Of The Wall From Our Table

1 White Blotch Next To My Car – 1 Woman Hiding From The Sun Next To Me As I Drove Away

201 of 552 Meals | 9/2010

201 Meals | 150 Meals

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A friend recently told me, while we ate one of the meals above, a story about his friend who only ate plain hamburgers. Just the meat, just the bread. I did not tell him immediately that this is how I too eat my hamburgers. It occurs to me as I write this he could of been referencing me delicately, as to not hurt my feelings, but his point is the same regardless.

One does not get “laid” eating like a finicky child.

Every Woman I Have Known Has Chosen Another And Told Me So

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August 15, 2010

An Unknown Woman With An Unknown Woman On Her Arm Forever

(a stranger at a filling station)

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Three Thoughts Of A Girl That Likes Looking At Clouds, Springtime | 2010

July 12, 2010

July 12, 2010

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June 26, 2010

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June 26, 2010

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April 3-4, 2010

July 15, 2010 | 4:58:17 PM

The Last Minutes Of July 11, 2010 – The First Minutes Of July 12, 2010

I Walked Towards The Door, I Stopped, I Shut My Eyes, I Took A Photograph Of Myself And I Hoped

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On July 6, 2009 a gift was purchased for me at truck stop in Louisiana. In the story I was told, and delightfully also printed on the receipt, this gift was purchased from a woman named Crystal. This Crystal was remembered and spoken of in high regard. I liked this story, I liked this gift.

After hearing this story, I decided then that if I ever found myself along this road in Louisiana, I would take a portrait of this Crystal at this truck stop.

Three hundred seventy one days later I found myself on this road racing towards Texas. It was almost midnight on a day that had already been too long. In the dark I approached an exit and it was not until I saw the name of this little town that I remembered this desire in myself. I almost missed it, I almost drove right by. The road was taking it’s toll on my mind more than I wanted to admit this day. I did not have the receipt with the address on me nor had I written it down. I went towards the brightest place in all that dark, tried to remember every detail I could and assumed this must be the place. It had to be the place. I stopped, I filled my borrowed chariot with gas and I looked at the clock, it was almost midnight. I wanted it to be the next day as soon as possible.

I walked towards the door, I stopped, I shut my eyes, I took a photograph of myself and I hoped that I was about to meet this Crystal.

I walked by the register, there stood two women, both with their name tags covered by other shirts or jackets and a tingle ran through my body, which one could it be? I found myself something to buy and approached the register. The man with the gun guarding the door was looking directly at me and my big ridiculous camera. I was almost the only one in there and I would be suspicious of me too.

I made my purchase, slowly counted my change and then explained my story. The two women looked at me up and down, then back at one another and then back at me. “Oh, yes, I remember Crystal. She moved to [this place].” We continued chatting for a moment or two, I thanked them repeatedly and explained to them that if I ever happen to find myself here again, maybe I would try to take their portrait. Tonight our story wasn’t complete, for we had only just met.

As I walked out the door, that man with the gun standing guard, he said quietly to me almost too low to hear, “You have a good night.” I told him to, “Keep this place safe,” and I stepped outside just in time to watch it become a new day in the middle of the night. I then made photographs for the Crystal I could not find, wherever she happen to be this night, knowing it is entirely possible that I will never meet her or see her beauty with my own eyes.

I pretended I had met this Crystal, I pretended I had heard from the woman that gave me the gift Crystal sold her and I started walking back towards my borrowed chariot knowing my best efforts had not been enough.

So I made another photograph of myself with my eyes closed.

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My camera had been slung around up onto my shoulder and was dangling aimlessly as I walked between the cars. I had walked too far from my borrowed chariot, still sitting at the gas pump from before I walked into the store. As I walked between the cars, I heard her voice before I saw her. “What are you doing?” she asked me. I assumed she saw me pointing that ridiculous camera at myself under the light. “Taking some photographs of myself so I can tell a story later,” I told her.

“Do you make any money doing that?”

“No, not really.”

Then she told me she was on her way to New Orleans so I told her I was on my way to Texas. Then she told me about some troubles she had and how hard life was for her and her babies. So I told her about my troubles and how hard my life was too sometimes although I had no babies. We talked a minute or two more, I thought we were getting to know one another as people do when they first meet over these tales of our shared woe. Eventually she asked me:

“Is there anything I can help you with so you can help me?”

I didn’t really understand the question and thought about it for a moment.

“Where is your truck parked?”

I turned and pointed towards the pumps in the distance, wondering why she thought I drove a truck.

“It’s over there, still at the pumps by all those cars, I wandered off.”

She told me another story about more of her troubles and that she only had $6. I thought about her question some more. I knew I had $10 left in my pocket from my purchase in the store trying to find Crystal.

“Can I take your portrait smoking that cigarette before you light it, I can pay you $10 for ten minutes of portrait time, how does that sound?”

She laughed and asked why would I want a photograph of her smoking. I told her I just like to photograph people smoking and had my whole life. She kept laughing and said:

“Okay, just stand here and smoke?”

“Yes.”

She lit her cigarette and I started photographing her. I did this for one minute and twenty-one seconds, thirty photographs. My memory card became full. I reached for my pocket where the other one lives. It was not there.

“We are done, thank you.” I gave her the $10 I promised.

“That’s it?”

“Yes, it was really nice to meet you.”

We shook hands and she stomped out her cigarette and I started off towards my borrowed chariot and she went back towards her small, red, dented, two door. As I got close under that canopy of lights, something started hitting me. Softly, but hard, with force, randomly all over my body as I got towards my door, desperately trying to remember her name. It was unique and I realized I had forgotten it at the same moment I realized I was being pelted by insects attracted to all those lights overhead. They were insects like I had never seen, even after 13 years in New York City. These were like roaches but different colors, had wings and were as big as my fist. I jumped into my borrowed chariot as fast I could only to realize I had left the moon roof open.

I jumped out, knocked off all the insects in a panic and started walking back to get her name. Standing there outside my borrowed chariot having a panic knocking insect after insect off me, I saw that dented little red two door go flying by me, windows down with her voice carrying outward as her tires squealed out over the insects littering the parking lot.

I had not noticed all these beautiful creatures when I arrived so shortly ago.

– – –

The moon roof now closed, the bugs all knocked off and a new memory card loaded, I sat at the fork exiting the truck stop. Left back to the highway, right to the hotel and food. I wanted, I needed to stop, yet it was clear to me in this moment, I needed to get to that Texas line. It was still many more miles away than I should be driving, I just wasn’t yet ready to hit that highway, not yet. I went right, right to the Waffle House®.

I pulled up and there were no cars in the lot but the lights were on and there were two women sitting on the curb out front, directly in front of the door wearing Waffle House® attire. I pulled up next to them, put my window down,

“Are you open?”

“Yeah, we open, why everyone keep asking us that?”

“Because it looks closed,” I told her politely laughing. She laughed too and we all sat there talking for some time, me in the borrowed chariot, window down, the two women sitting there smoking. It took serious effort to understand each word, the accents had such specific beauty, I wanted to be sure I savored it. I didn’t really want to go inside. I got out of the borrowed chariot, ridiculous camera still swinging from my shoulder. We kept talking.

A man boy arrived out of nowhere, taller than me (I am six foot one), taller than me by a great deal and skinny as a rail. He said something to me I swear wasn’t even English and started laughing at his own comment instantly. I never got him to repeat it. Then it was the four of us, standing outside the door of the Waffle House® telling one another stories. I could have stood there hours.

A group arrived next to us in a car, put their window down,

“Ya’ll open?”

The two women looked at me and started laughing while they went inside. I stayed outside for a moment, watching the new car unload four twenty-somethings that looked fresh out of Brooklyn, but had likely had never left Louisiana, all walk by me as if I wasn’t there and go inside. The tall skinny rail was still outside too, thumbing around a burnt out cigarette and looking for more on the asphalt. I asked him if I could take his photograph smoking:

“Helya no you caint.”

He then went inside as fast as he could. I stood there a minute, wondering why, only as he had a minute ago been so curious. My hunger made me forget this and I walked inside. I stood inside the door, the Brooklyn kids were at the counter, no non-awkward spot was to be had there. There were three booths lining the front window, one was empty and dirty, the middle one had a young woman sitting there alone, head to toe in green and the last booth was also empty, but one woman who had been outside and friendly a minute ago, was sitting on the last stool directly next to it now glaring at me. There was no non-awkward spot to choose. I chose to head towards the one clean booth and to go ahead and face the girl in all green, head to toe all green, even if it meant we’d be staring at one another over the empty side of her booth and the empty side of mine.

Just as I started towards my seat, skinny rail jumped up from the counter where he had taken a perch next to the Brooklyn kids,

“Dooode, ya got a craze giant bug on you!!!!!!”

As he said this, the Brooklyn kids all jumped from their seats and ran towards the booths away from me, the waitresses ran away from the center of the restaurant and even the cook I only now noticed ran back from me. There I was, in the middle of this Waffle House® just after midnight, spinning in a circle with my ridiculous camera flying outward on its strap, slapping my body randomly to knock off a giant insect I had not yet seen, still on me from the truck stop. I stopped spinning and asked the skinny rail,

“Did I get it!?!”

“Naugh maaan, ya arm pit, ya armpit!”

I had practically ripped my shirt off in the middle of this Waffle House®, big ridiculous camera bouncing all around, when I finally saw a large, giant black beetle or roach or whatever fall to the ground. I kicked it over and over toward the door, opened the door, kicked it through and then turned towards the inside of the Waffle House®. The entire place was as far from me as it could be. I arranged my shirt back into place, placed my big ridiculous camera back under my arm and asked the skinny rail, “Anymore?” He just shook his head no and sat down. I stared at my feet, walked to my awkward spot in the corner booth and sat down. The woman who had been friendly outside and only glared at me inside, got up from her spot nearby at the counter, walked to other side of the counter  and sat back down. I ordered and waited. The green girl across from my booth never once looked up at me or away from her phone. She had on a green bandanna of sorts high up in her dark hair, a green shirt with a giant frog on it and green stockings. She looked as if she was dressed for a rave and this girl was not kidding around about it, she was ready for her close up in a rave/club kid movie, here, in Waffle House®, after midnight, in nowhere Louisiana. It was wonderful and I couldn’t stop staring. I was the sweaty, odd, oldest guy in the room who had just brought in a giant beetle. Everyone was done talking to me.

I ate my food and waited for the check. Everyone else had left by the time it came. The woman who brought this check was the first woman who had spoken to me outside and laughed when I asked her if they were open. She was really sweet when she brought it and told me to have a safe drive. I told her to have a safe night and looked down at the check. Her name was Karen, just like my mother.

As I was going through the door, looking for the insect I had kicked out earlier, tall skinny rail was there. He made a point to jump out of the way and avoid me but more oddly, the downward facing lens line of the big ridiculous camera still dangling from my shoulder. I asked him why so scared of a camera and his response was that a man was holding it. If I had been a woman, he’d have been posing away for me.

I had only been stopped in Louisiana 66 minutes.

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I was on the highway now. Not staying in Louisiana was becoming more and more of a good idea, at least for this night. I had started off on this journey so long ago and it was now just after one in the morning. I wanted that Texas line and it was not going to be easy. The moment that thought entered my mind is when I saw it. On the side of the road, coming up on my right, the only lights around in the perfect dark, was a U-Haul truck pulling a trailer and a car, all filled and bursting with extra items tied to them where there really shouldn’t be. It was sitting there idle with a man standing out of the drivers door, high beams lighting up the road in front. There, just on the edge of the high beams and the edge of the asphalt, was a woman in a pink house dress, holding the hand of a small boy with his pants around his ankles, urinating out into the wild.

If that little boy can do that in a moment like this as fearless as he seemed, surely I can make Texas. I put the windows down, I opened that moon roof back up and turned up the music.

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I made that Texas line. I again almost missed noticing it in the dark. I started looking for a place to stop. I have crossed this east Texas line twice now this year, both times felt the same and it wasn’t the joy I hoped for, both times a total surprise of things I had desired so greatly going so wrong.

I ended up stopping in the one town I didn’t want to, almost to spite myself. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I checked into a hotel and went to the room leaving everything in the borrowed chariot, minus the cameras. I took off all my clothes, laid down and thought the sleep would wash over me like a pleasant wave. The moment my head hit the pillow I was no longer tired. I was ready to start the day all over again.

I had been awake almost 24 hours, I had made 1,493 photographs and 77 videos in 15 hours 1 minute total trip time, 8 hours 44 minutes driving time, 6 hours 16 minutes stopped time, averaged 61.9 MPH and traveled 541 miles across 5 states.

I laid there a few hours, shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. I stayed in the hotel as late as I could, ignoring the call of the road to get out of this town. I packed my gear and went to check out, I had received no receipt under my door. At the counter there was a woman who politely helped me. For reasons I still don’t know, it took over twenty minutes to check me out of the room I did not sleep in. We chatted, I made jokes, she laughed, she smiled and I told her stories. I didn’t want to leave that counter, please have a more difficult time checking me out. I asked her if I could take her photograph and she simply replied that she hated having her photograph made. Yet there I was, snapping, as the camera sat on the counter not quietly making images. Her eyes charmingly rolling and rolling at me.

Then I was on the road again. It was no longer an adventure, it was an errand. I pulled over before the town line. I pulled into an abandon looking driveway and I called that hotel in which I did not sleep. The same woman I had been photographing answered just as I had hoped. I asked her to have lunch with me and I could hear her eyes rolling at me again as she politely declined.

I got back on the road.

My Typical Thumb & The Inappropriate Finger Next To It

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August 1, 2010

Two women that knew me well enough and did not know each other have each used different words, single words, to describe me, what I make or the combination there in. Neither of these two words had I thought about myself before and now I cannot forget them.

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One Young Woman Shielding Her Eyes From The Sun | August 11, 2010 | 29 Seconds

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One Older Man Leaning On A Car For Support, One Older Woman Hiding From The Sun

August 12, 2010 | 7 Seconds

August 14, 2010

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June 27, 2010

Today All That I Wanted To Touch Was On The Other Side Of Glass

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June 28, 2010

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June 28, 2010

I Have Been Here Before But Not This Way, So Much Is Not What It Once Was

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The Very Day I Told This Story Became

The Very Night Before The Morning I Saw A Myth Become A Legend

This Is What I See And This Is What I Look Like When I Feel Myself Being Forgotten

Friday | August 27, 2010 | City Of Violet

My Name Is Jonathan And This Night I Wanted More Than To Be Only Remembered Forever

The harder I try to not see something,

not want to see something,

not notice something,

not look for something,

the more obvious it all becomes,

right in front of me,

without effort,

day

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day,

after

day.

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10 In 10 Days | August 14-23, 2010

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June 27, 2010

June 9, 2010

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Listen To Me, Speak To Me, Believe In Me

Military, Community and Corporate Representatives Discuss Renewable, Sustainable Energy Initiatives

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Hollering Of The Frogs | June & July 2010

I was standing outside alone recording when a man approached and unexpectedly burst into story.

1999 | Los Angeles

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One time, long ago, during a critique in which I had not done the assignment, nor attempted it, as I was too busy printing photographs that had nothing to do with this day, tacking them to the wall anyway, a girl stood up and was defending me. I did not know she even looked at the photographs I made before today. I was surprised. I remember her far across the classroom looking at me, through me, towards the professor. “Jonathan photographs rocks. Not like you or I would just take a photo of a rock, Jonathan makes that rock hurt you.”

I looked at my feet and I blushed. It was exactly what I wanted.

I think her name was Victoria, yes, it was.

June 26, 2010 | My Name Is Jonathan And I Am Intoxicated By Myth

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My melted attempts of grand flights and my tasks of unrelenting effort against odds unachievable, known or unknown to me to be so, are here, on display for you to witness as I seek what I desire. This is the greatest gift of which I am capable.

It is for all of you as it is for myself.

This Day Matters For A Reason & Today I Am Not What I Once Was Because Of Myth

August 22, 2010

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“I was driven to ask myself in all seriousness: “What is the myth you are living?” I found no answer to this question, and had to admit that I was not living with a myth, or even in a myth, but rather in an uncertain cloud of theoretical possibilities which I was beginning to regard with increasing distrust…”

– the big colored liber novus I never knew of, that I just traded a camera for, taught me this about myself

This Story Has Been Rewritten 165 Times, Took 31 Days To Write And 26 Days Of Waiting To Share

1999 | Los Angeles

20 Photographs

Realized, Edited, Scanned, Designed, Completed August 1-3, 2010

Story Converted From English To French Via The Internet

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$15 | (USA Shipping Included)

i like to tell stories | Quarterly #1-8 Collected | 164 pages | soft to the touch



i like to tell stories

June 25, 2007 – June 25, 2010 | 1096 Days | 1084 Published Stories | 126 Unpublished Stories


ask to touch one

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1.96 Seconds Of My Haunting | May 31, 2010

196 Photographs At 1/100 A Second In 31 Minutes 14 Seconds

Woman Hollering Creek

“According to legend, a woman who has recently given birth drowns her newborn in the river because the father of the child either does not want it, or leaves with a different woman. The woman then screams in anguish from drowning her child. After her death, her spirit then haunts the location of the drowning and wails in misery. The legend has many different variations and there has even been occasional sightings of the restless woman’s spirit. The legend also states that if you get too close to the water, the hollering woman will drag you in, hoping you are her child.” – Wikipedia

I was driving east from where I now live. On this drive, on this road, one crosses many streams, creeks and rivers. This being Texas, there is a sign for almost each one, so you know which water running you are crossing as you cross it.

I stopped at the first one, only this first one.

At each one, I dreamed of the wet underneath. I was hot and I imagined that wet would be a comfort. At each one, every muscle in my body and in my brain was telling me to stop, to not go further and to turn my chariot around. Yet my heart, that damn thing was telling me to floor it, faster and faster and find that next wet to cross, as with each one, I was almost where I had been dreaming of. Dreaming of that wet I had lost.

My heart will always win.

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Austin, TX | June 16, 2010 | 2 Minutes, 2 Seconds


I Believe Everything I See, Still, I Just No Longer Trust It

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8 Minutes In The Hour Of 8 | June 21, 2010



Twenty Four Hours Has Now Passed

In these hours I have been tested and tried against many odds on a measurable scale while standing on my own, I saw a portrait of an unborn child, I saw proof of love forever believed in, I have a new way to communicate with a tool I can hold in my own hands and as I had hoped all 24h long, a new battery has successfully been started. Of all this I am quite grateful.

We were invited to witness the beginning of people changing themselves, fixing themselves, all by making themselves less than they are now. If I could make myself half of what I am now to be a better man, in the environment of this challenge they were facing, I like to think I would try too. This today was not about me and the weight I was feeling was so very different yet just as hard to shed. Some moments of bravery we saw this day were nothing short of extraordinary.

A Spa By A River In Texas On A Hot Day

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One Day Long Ago I Held A Green Balloon

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April 13, 2010 | 7:09:54 PM

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A Girl From Brooklyn In Texas

15 Hours Before I Left #1RN

False Eyelashes, 8 Years After Being Stuck Down | #1RN | 2010

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I could see her shaking, feel it. It went faster then I thought and she was gone, I watched her go down the stairs and through the turnstile. Then she was gone. I stood there in disbelief, she couldn’t really be leaving New York City, it couldn’t be real, it really didn’t feel it. I had never been with someone so long.

I stood there a minute trying to soak it in.

I was down the stairs and through the turnstile before I knew what was happening. I walked as fast as I could without actually running, going through the mid-town crowd looking for her, she wouldn’t be hard to spot I thought to myself and just kept pushing through the crowd. Half way down the platform, there she was, standing looking at her feet and no longer crying. She saw me coming, smiled only the way she does when I surprise her and she asked me what I was doing. I didn’t say a word, I just grabbed her and I didn’t let go. The train came and she let go of me and got on. She didn’t invite me on and I didn’t step on.

The last time I talked to her before she got married, she asked me why I never chased her to where to she had moved to. I asked her why I wasn’t invited.