Friday, March 16, 2012

Porous with travel fever

Taken from the street

Taken from a tall building

Taken from a helicopter
Sweating away in the muddy laptop archives looking at old (three years maybe?) photos and wondering about the best method of filing and holding and referring to all the wonderful and overlooked jpegs sitting undisturbed in their rows. A short lifetime of images and mistakes crumpled together, travel and wonderfully sunny and rare days, grimaces, smiles and holding drinks up to the camera as if they were sporting cups or represented the height of personal achievement. It's good to have the means to look back, all I need to do now is maintain it. For some reason I was reminded of an old Joni Mitchell lyric that really has nothing to do with New York but a lot to do with travel and memory:


I'm porous with travel fever
But you know I'm so glad to be on my own
Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
Can set up trembling in my bones
I know - no one's going to show me everything
We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone 


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