Me as an Alien

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My camera happened to snap this shot of me using the new Pentax UltraVision Lens.
For those of you who do not have my high expertise in new technology, please allow me to explain the Pentax UltraVision Lens.
This Lens, with Its intra sonar and high calibre radio inductive sensory system, can (and does) capture the essence of the person (or alleged person) who is “captured” in the photo.
As you can see, my true essence, as captured by the Pentax UltraVision Lens, reveals that I am in fact alien.
This is something that I have suspected for some time, but it took the Pentax UltraVision Lens to make things clear.


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You know these art galleries are great and all. But I’m finding in Paris there’s just so many people flocking through them that it’s difficult to focus on the artwork. Thus, when I found out that the Louvre, like all museums, has one day off each week, I wondered if things might be better if I could get in then.
Sure enough, the Louvre’s day off is Tuesday, so through a friend of a friend (who works in security), I was able to get in during the day off (it’s not who you know, it’s who you know).
So there I was inside the greatest of all art museums roaming around unfettered.
Then I realized that it’s not just the staff who get a day off, but the art itself has a chance to breathe and be themselves.
As I walked by the wine bar I thought “holy shit, there they are.” the Louvre’s two biggest stars were just hanging out, having a glass of wine and venting just a bit.
I have just one photo of the scene, since I had to hide out.
But here is what Venus de Milo and Mona Lisa had to say (as best I could hear):

Mona: you know Venus, all these people staring at me–it’s really starting to get to me.
Venus: ah c’mon Mona–just smile and deal with it. You’ve always been good with that
Mona: Ya, I guess you’re right. But so many photographs.
Venus: Well, but…at least you’re not half naked.
Mona: Leonardo was always good about that.
Venus: and give me a sip of wine, if you would–they still haven’t given me any arms.

Then I had to go.


Paris Tree

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The tree sits high overtop a Paris cafe.
In the spring and the summer the leaves flourish,
As the people chatter below.
They speak and they talk
And they soliloquize as people want to do.
And the leaves take it in again and again–
Absorbing the shit from below.
Until in the autumn it is time to go.
So the leaves fall–weighted with talk.
Then the tree sits alone all winter
Listening to the chatter below
Wishing for it’s fine leafery
To stop the squalor below.
And then in the spring,
When the leaves come again,
The tree breathes the proverbial
Breath of ease–
When the leaves take the brunt
Of the chatter below,
And the tree can just be a tree.


Those All Dead

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Are with me in the moments I breathe.
Are around my moments of silence.
Are in places no one can leave.
Will guide me to places of kindness.

Long distances are shorter than we know.
Big Places are smaller than they show.
Large people give less than they should.
And in the end we all act as we could.

The next place it may happen
Is a place so long, long from here
That people who’ve seen it say
“Man–you’ a long way from there.”

So the next step was a stumble
Since I was working by myself
And being out of country
Makes one extra humble.

So, well, could be worse.
I could be the back seat passenger
In a big, black, limousine hearse.

But I wasn’t and I’m not.
I’m just the guy who changed religions
And didn’t get caught.

So the next time you consider when, when–
Someone is standing on the cliff of life
Standing on the abyss overlooking life and death
Celebrate that you are not.


Moments

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Don’t talk as much as I used to.
No need to it seems.
I was inside last night’s sunset
And in other people’s dreams.
The times that come–
Will be the times that went.
The future is the present,
Is the past, is forgotten.
Except, except–
for those those moments When….


A Song

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I looked at my phone again
Thing is I did that minutes ago
Still no messages– only the time
Glaring at me like some comic
Saying “hey–a’int nobody calling?”
And then the minutes, the hours just slide
Slide into some other place where
They all mean just the same thing:
Distance, place, time, size
Or some equivalent of all those.
You see, it’s just a matter of direction,
Except that the course doesn’t set the way.
The reverse, it seems, is true,
It’s always the purpose creating the day.



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About This Place…

"This website is dedicated to the many people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo who have suffered and died."

 

The writer was a journalist, prosecutor, and Canadian soldier who is now trying to help the people who live in the DR Congo.

 

The photographs and the commentary here are solely those of the writer and his pet dog named "Bark." The United Nations and MONUSCO have nothing to do with this website.

Similarly, the township of Puskokum in eastern Tennessee is equally not interested.