A city of constants.
Sunday
Though technically the beginning of a new week, Sunday always seems more like the last breath of a week gone past. Depending on the prior week, it is either the panicked gasp of one who fears what comes next, or the peaceful exhalation of one having made the most of their time.
Sunday is revelation. It is the moment you realize exactly how you are living your life.
Coffee Candid (Past)
An old coffee candid of filmmaker, writer, and theatre buff CJ Johnson, analog irregularities and all.
Friday
There is a lightness in the commute this morning. It's the same route,
same travel time, and same people, but somehow the air feels lighter.
Scowls are softened, smiles come easily and when the mind wanders into
the near future, dread is absent. If this week were a race, and you
were Usain Bolt, this is the moment you look back at your foes, and
realizing they have no hope of overtaking you, you smile. An eye
squinting forehead wrinkling all your teeth want to be seen sort of
smile. The finish line is moments ahead and now there's no stopping
you.
Once that computer screen goes black and you Fred Flintstone slide out
of your office, you contemplate all the joyous things you will do with
your newfound freedom. Will you celebrate tonight? Reveling in the
streets, a gold medal that says "Weekend" dangling around your neck?
Or will you simply dwell in the moment, feet placed gently on your
ottoman as you enjoy obligationless peace?
Either way, your relief feels unparalleled and your possibilities feel
endless. So no matter the choice you make, or plans you have for your
moments of respite, it will be a very Happy Friday indeed.
Thursday
You're in your zone now. The mind sees the goal, and all energy conspires to reach it. It's within reach, nearly palpable and now it is merely time that hinders. Effort feels minimal, as it is wrapped in the knowledge of its imminent end.
Thursday is the growing luminance at the end of a long dark tunnel.
Tonight you celebrate.
Wednesday
There's just something about half way. That moment of realization that path ahead is just as short as the path behind, and that you don't have to do any more than you've already done. Now that can manifest poorly (midlife crisis) or positively (second half comeback). But here, when all there's only freedom at the end, the halfway mark is motivation to keep going. A "you got this!" yelled from the crowd. A cup of electrolytes extended to you from an encouraging arm.
Wednesday is a weekly manifestation of a grey haired elder saying, "trouble don't last always."
Tuesday
Well look who made it. Monday is done, the torture of the first return to a haunting place that you've been far too many times. And despite the heaviness in your limbs when dragging yourself there, you survived and got through that day. A feeling of triumph washes over you,. Then you realize, that despite surviving the unpleasantries of the day before, you are still much closer to the beginning of your troubles than then end, and you're also farther removed from the joy of the weekend past. Tuesday is like escaping a bully, only to realize he'll be at your house when you get home.
Monday
It's Monday morning, and millions of Americans have heeded the jarring ring of an alarm, extricating themselves from their beds, and beginning their travel to travail. For this is the real first day of the week for most. Sunday is merely their last respite, a final meal before walking that green mile to the office chair.
This is the cycle. A life of a thousand little deaths, each scheduled on a recurring calendar for Monday morning. Strapping yourself into that chair and turning on the juice, watching the screen dance with more life than is felt coursing through the veins.
#writing
#thebottomlesseye
Happy Birthday Love!
Summer in Brooklyn
Ice cream trucks. Dogs barking. Sirens blaring. The sounds of children running through an open hydrant. This is Brooklyn in the summertime.
A Dream
I saw a dream today.
A Black Man with this Black wife and this Black children as a beautiful Black family. All glasses and watches and sneakers and charm.
Whole Foods bags cradled in their arms.
They traveled with the ease of stability. Hair full. Hearts aligned. Laughter on their tongues.
Projecting a destination at the end of a winding road. The doors opened and with his daughter's hand in his, he tossed me the reel.
"For later"
I saw a dream today. A dream to wake to.
Whats good Wyatt?
Somebody email this to him.
Needs. July 7, 2016
Now more than ever, I have to remember my joy. Celebrate successes. Live with the memory of my best moments, because otherwise, all that remains is pain.
The unavoidable, ubiquitous, and seemingly growing revelation of our lack of in this world is soul grinding. Lack of wealth. Lack of education. Lack of resources. Lack of respect for life. Lack of respect for life. Lack of respect for life. The knowledge of these issues acts as a weight, reminding me of its presence just when it faded to the background of my consciousness.
I have to understand that it is almost certainly outside of my individual ability to really make it stop. I am only I. But I must keep working. Not knowing how much I can do is still more than doing nothing. But to keep doing something, I have to feed off the good. Feed off the barbecues. The first birthdays. The graduations. The moments of love and happiness. Because every good moment is merely a moment. When those good instants end, abruptly, violently, the fight begins to maintain sanity, just in order to keep working.
I wrote this because of Alton Sterling. I didn't get to finish it before Philandro Castile. I feel I can't do anything. But I have to keep trying.
Happy Summer.
Double Consciousness.
Self Portrait, 2016.
"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen"
- George Orwell
Show Thanks!
A photo graph of me with my photographs taken by bae.
Thanks to everybody that came out to support the show! And much love to the five other dope photographers who I got to share the space with. If you missed the show and want to check out the work, come to the Bushwick Community Darkroom at 110 Troutman Street, BK NY because all of our work will be there through the end of July. Also, there's still some zine sets still available, so holla to get one!
Now it is time to get back to work.
Brooklyn, NY.
Father.
Provider. Nurturer. Leader. Giver. Instructor. Director. Carer. Healer. Guider. Father