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Philosophy Photography Short Stories Writing

June 1, slimy shiny orange red brown organic something [Absence of Fear]

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A landscape of ash and smoke and embers of flame dancing in the air around heaps of shrubs on fire. Tree trunks rolled over, shift back and forth in the wind against tree stumps. Soot and dust and desert. A sky with an orange glare getting brighter red near the circle of the sun. A little way ahead of us, at a hole at the base of a hill, a fox pokes her head out and licks the air. She bobs her head up and down. Then coughs. Then whelps. Then belches out a slimy orange red brown organic something that splatters on the dirt. She shivers. Licks the air again. Her nose twitches. Sneezes.

I crouch to my knee and motion her towards us. She sees me and stares. She stares for quite a while. My brother taps my shoulder. He looks at me and shakes his head. I look back at the fox and stop motioning her. She’s still staring. I look into her eyes and the closer I look, it’s as if I can see her raised eyebrows, her black pupils. Like she’s sad. Like she’s angry. Like she’s been weeping misery. A long time.

“That’s just you thinking all poetic and melancholic like,” my brother tells me, reading my mind. “The fox doesn’t think like that. It accepts everything on pure instinct and adapts. It’s pure instinctual adaptation. Instinctual adaptation doesn’t complain. It has no conception of animal rights or any idea of a natural order of things. It just lives on.”

“But does instinctual adaptation absolve me of any sense of responsibility for all of this? For what we’ve done?” I ask.

“That’s just your mind guilting you for not preserving life the way it was when you got it. Change is more natural than things staying the same. We can’t be afraid of change. We can’t be afraid to change things,” he tells me.

The fox goes back into her hole.

I poke the dirt covered earth with my finger. It crusts and crumbles. I look back at the fires burning all around us, oil geysers spraying out like lawn sprinklers, tree branches igniting in the distance like firework sparklers. I check the oxygen levels in my suit. I look at my brother and say.

“Is this what life becomes in the absence of fear?”

By Ashish Seth

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 29, The Birth of Time

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The thing about a long life is there’s more time for it to screw up. But there’s also more time for it to become beautiful.

By Ashish Seth

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 28, Golden Cat (Oil)

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My mother hung a bird feeder under a tree at the front of my house and inadvertently created a destructive ecosystem. This cat sits on my neighbor’s front steps watching the tree. On that tree hangs the bird feeder. Since the bird feeder’s inception, bird nests started to appear on the top branches of the tree. In those nests are chicks and eggs. The cat appeared shortly after. In the mornings she comes, her mouth salivating as she watches those nests. And as I come out to leave for work, I notice my Honda Accord’s windows drool with caramel creamy bird shit. I look at that cat sitting there. It looks at me and I know we have an agreement. Kill those motherfuckers!

By Ashish Seth

Life is short. Eat dessert first.

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 27, Clarified Humor

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“Outside of a dog a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” – Siri

By Ashish Seth

I just had to make sure if he looked like a bitch.

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 25, Theodore

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Senility Bear Hates You

By Ashish Seth and Matt Rulli

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 21, First Tim’s

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Hamilton is an ACTUAL city.

By Ashish Seth

Categories
Photography Poetry Quotes Writing

May 17, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

I got this feeling today while I was waiting in my car and looking up at the sun. I’ve felt this feeling before at different times. I don’t know what it is. Here’s my attempt at describing it. I wrote it to this song.

Like waves in a stream
Like fizz in sodapop
Like bubbles in a bath
Like an iced lime latte
Like froth on a milkshake
Like all green lights ahead
Like not having to get out of bed
Like every person you’ve liked
Like every path you’ve ever biked
Like going down a sloped path
Like finishing a final exam
Like a late night drive
Like not having to hide
Like forgetting what hurts
Like a feeling of self-worth
Like dissipation
Transformation
Determination
Like an act of creation
Like confusion turns to clarity
Like the amusement of idiocy
A momentary lapse in foolishness
Like a place where odds don’t exist
Like the same song over and over
Like an arm around your shoulder
Like days you’d just live over
Like your best friends come over
Like Donkey Kong on Super Nintendo
Like a two-hour extended episode
Like things aren’t yet over
Like feeling this is ‘sober’
Like the start of a sleepover
Like sexual innuendo
Like a Friday at closing time
Like hearing the bell for the last time
Like meeting someone interesting
Like seeing the food approaching
Like taking the first bite
Like writing the last line
Like love on poetry
Like dancing in the streets
Like the destination you’ve reached
Like where two points meet

Like the first chord you played
Like your first taste of lemonade
Like building up a deck of cards
Like walking the block with your only dog
Like whispering into your loved ones ear
Like wishing the end was not so near – Matt Rulli

Like turning regret into a youthful eye – Claire Luxenburg

Exceeding the limits of your imagination
Being the child tucked in bed
Dreaming of the world with fascination
Having that first touch
And the need for a kiss
A breeze grazing the sweat off my forehead
Water as still as ice reflecting the sunset – Lucianna See

Like a rhyme on every line
Like you’re finally getting some signs
Like your first time on rewind
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind…

Writers and passing bystanders, if you know this feeling I’m trying to describe, I oblige you to contribute a few lines of verse. I shall add your lines above and credit you.

Ashish Seth

“Never tell me the odds.” – Ashis-, no no, Han Solo

Categories
Photography Poetry Writing

May 16, Introspective Pooch

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At the dawn of summer
Rest in peace, Donna Summer

By Ashish Seth

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 15, Rules

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Don’t judge a book by its movie. – J.W. Eagan

By Ashish Seth

Categories
Photography Quotes Writing

May 14, Ballpark

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When a poem kills someone, it’s called an iambic pentamurder!

By Ashish Seth