All the Words of a Language:

Polaroid Stories | Images that wait for a story to be told

We are kiddie typophiles. We hide in the overgrowth of playground black tops and school yard sidewalks waiting with our Polaroid cameras to snap illicit photos of innocent, pre-pubescent typography.

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Two things can happen when you live in the 'burbz.
A. You could become clinically insane due to a confused boredom that exists every day which is a result from a subconscious conditioned thought that you need external stimulation to cure you;

B. You could become clinically insane creatively due to a confused boredom that exists every day which is a result from a subconscious conditioned thought that you need external creativity to cure you.

The cure for burbanitiz: internal decisiveness, which they don't sell at Rite-Aid.

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The colors may not suit your taste because it wasn't intended for your palette. It was glazed for his children's eyes, who, if for any reason, God willing, became lost, would be able to sniff their way back home.

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A gypsy by nature, she let a silent winter wind plant her roots once and for all. A tumultuous relationship they experienced; him tossing her around valleys, whipping her past corners. When she was stripped to her bare seed she kissed him goodbye and crystallized into an honorable sleep.

Weeks later, that brown eye thawed open and she gazed down at her solar tower called home. In the midst of her unpacking, like the respectful neighbor I am, offered her a photo to commemorate this auspicious homestead. She declined politely, instead returning to her gypsy childhood, moving about, swaying that golden spire.

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It's Friday. I am tired. It is rainy outside. I want to live in a tree and be 11 years old. I just got back my prints from the the 35mm film which I shot with my Mom's old 80's Minolta camera. I am staring at them right now, even as I type, because I am talented. They turned out fantastic which means artsy which means blurry for just enough effect on some and crisp detail for just enough effect on others. This means for today, digital cameras are dead to me. I want to show off my photos because I am a narcissistic photography killer but I don't want to scan. This means for right now, old, non digital, easy to upload images onto Flickr type cameras are dead to me. So here's an old Polaroid that I keep around on my desktop in a folder, like a remembrance, a keepsake, to the time when I was a camera murder and decided to bury them and just enjoy the moment as it exists rather than trying to capture it on film. I don't need a photograph to tell me I was alive.

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It was difficult for him to understand that it is his choice to be loved. Because, it is so much easier to blame everyone else for not loving him enough than to love himself as is, unconditionally, you see. That would require separation of thought, emotion and fact, and frankly, that's too much to ask when you are too busy running a kingdom of confusion.

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I am these clothes. I call them "my" style. And they are better than yours. Because I can't own yours. I own this furry life in my arms and call him "mine." Because "my" breath is more important than his. Because I can't breathe his air. I do not want to be called a Hipster. Because that would label "me." And "I" want to appear unlabeled. I am trendier than you. I'm more ahead than you'll ever be. Even though we stand together in this moment. We are experiencing the same exact time and place. But "my" generation transcends yours. And I want you to hate "me" for it. I am so far ahead of you; that I am dead.

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What the? JANE, come look at this. | Tom, what happened to the picture? | Jane, where are my glasses? | Here. | No, no, those are yours. | Allright, HERE. | No, wait, those were mine. Wait, what the hell what do you mean what did I do to the picture? | That's not what I said! Why isn't the dog in the photo? | I don't know Jane! Piece of crap film. | Did you load the camera wrong? Miller-SIT! You want a piece of bacon? Yes-yes yooou dooo! | Don't give the dog more bacon...I taught physics, of coarse I loaded the camera correctly. | Well, maybe the flash wasn't on. Good boy Miller, yes, you're a good boy. | What? What do you mean the camera's broken? | That's not what I said! Yes, Mommy and Daddy love you Miller. Ok, ok, OK! Stop licking my face. | This is ridiculous. Jane! I should have just driven to Keene and used the 50 cent coupon for film. | Tom, Keene is 30 miles away. | Heh-yea-well-if I'd had known this film would be defunct I would have liked to have saved 50 cents on this piece of crap. | I don't know, I like it. Let's just send it out to the kids for our Christmas card anyway. | Fine, but when we're at Wal-Mart getting duplicates I'm going to Customer Service to get a refund. | Well, how much was the film? | Let me see.......Jane, where are my glasses? | Right here. | No, THESE are yours. | Are they? | Oh no, wait, those were mine! Um-oh-OK! We deserve $5 back! | C'mon Miller, let's get in the car. Tom, let's go! | Hold on, I'll be there in a sec. JANE! Where's the coupon for bacon? And my glasses?

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