Her twin lens reflex camera dangles around her nape. Two rolls of expired films bulge on her left-hand breast pocket, each with 36 exposures waiting to be bashed under the scorching sun. Her palms are perspiring and her ruby-painted nail beds glisten even from afar. She is wearing her polka-dotted cat-shaped spectacles today. But her vision, even in a marvellous midday, remains incoherent.
She shoots some stray felines from her hip and the purring vertebrates freak her by their howling glare. She scours for familiar strangers along the city's ill-bred alleyways. Illegal vendors, sidewalk sweepers, homeless toddlers, and even jaywalkers. Shutter-wise, she immortalizes stolen scenes from those strangers' lives. Not that they didn't notice, but they didn't care. She advances the sprockets as she prances along the boulevard of tainted peace.
She takes a photograph of a tree with only twigs as its leaves and she says, "He'll like this." She turns up to the vivid azure skies and adores the shapely curves of the cumulus clouds. She traces an image of a Japanese geisha, its face as stainless as the mackerel sky. She turns down to her feet and flashes the strobe against her flowered boots. "I guess every girl goes through a photography phase," she recites Charlotte's line, then she suspires a blissful sigh.
Her dreams, like light-leaks on redscaled films, are brimming like a colourful spectre of hymns.
Author
Eяin Heяoin
4 comments
Vividly graphic. Almost lyrical. Heaving as if an untold awaiting its dissolution. An open-ended dream, cast into the memory of her lens. Surreal. Yet real.
Your docile reader. :)
Your docile reader. :)
i've always been rather envious of photographers. i've never had a photography phase myself. i turn green when i see people who have the innate ability to express themselves through pictures. greener (?) still when i read stuff from people like you who express themselves through words.
flattery aside, me likes this post. :D
flattery aside, me likes this post. :D
@Red:
I like that, surreal but real. Because the entry partly was. :)
Thanks!
I like that, surreal but real. Because the entry partly was. :)
Thanks!
@Citybuoy:
Photography is a skill but it needs not be innate in order to express emotions. I fairly believe that is in the eye of the cam-holder. And depends upon the looker's perception, as well.
Thank you for liking. :)
Photography is a skill but it needs not be innate in order to express emotions. I fairly believe that is in the eye of the cam-holder. And depends upon the looker's perception, as well.
Thank you for liking. :)
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Her twin lens reflex camera dangles around her nape. Two rolls of expired films bulge on her left-hand breast pocket, each with 36 exposures waiting to be bashed under the scorching sun. Her palms are perspiring and her ruby-painted nail beds glisten even from afar. She is wearing her polka-dotted cat-shaped spectacles today. But her vision, even in a marvellous midday, remains incoherent.
She shoots some stray felines from her hip and the purring vertebrates freak her by their howling glare. She scours for familiar strangers along the city's ill-bred alleyways. Illegal vendors, sidewalk sweepers, homeless toddlers, and even jaywalkers. Shutter-wise, she immortalizes stolen scenes from those strangers' lives. Not that they didn't notice, but they didn't care. She advances the sprockets as she prances along the boulevard of tainted peace.
She takes a photograph of a tree with only twigs as its leaves and she says, "He'll like this." She turns up to the vivid azure skies and adores the shapely curves of the cumulus clouds. She traces an image of a Japanese geisha, its face as stainless as the mackerel sky. She turns down to her feet and flashes the strobe against her flowered boots. "I guess every girl goes through a photography phase," she recites Charlotte's line, then she suspires a blissful sigh.
Her dreams, like light-leaks on redscaled films, are brimming like a colourful spectre of hymns.
She shoots some stray felines from her hip and the purring vertebrates freak her by their howling glare. She scours for familiar strangers along the city's ill-bred alleyways. Illegal vendors, sidewalk sweepers, homeless toddlers, and even jaywalkers. Shutter-wise, she immortalizes stolen scenes from those strangers' lives. Not that they didn't notice, but they didn't care. She advances the sprockets as she prances along the boulevard of tainted peace.
She takes a photograph of a tree with only twigs as its leaves and she says, "He'll like this." She turns up to the vivid azure skies and adores the shapely curves of the cumulus clouds. She traces an image of a Japanese geisha, its face as stainless as the mackerel sky. She turns down to her feet and flashes the strobe against her flowered boots. "I guess every girl goes through a photography phase," she recites Charlotte's line, then she suspires a blissful sigh.
Her dreams, like light-leaks on redscaled films, are brimming like a colourful spectre of hymns.
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Vividly graphic. Almost lyrical. Heaving as if an untold awaiting its dissolution. An open-ended dream, cast into the memory of her lens. Surreal. Yet real.
ReplyDeleteYour docile reader. :)
i've always been rather envious of photographers. i've never had a photography phase myself. i turn green when i see people who have the innate ability to express themselves through pictures. greener (?) still when i read stuff from people like you who express themselves through words.
ReplyDeleteflattery aside, me likes this post. :D
@Red:
ReplyDeleteI like that, surreal but real. Because the entry partly was. :)
Thanks!
@Citybuoy:
ReplyDeletePhotography is a skill but it needs not be innate in order to express emotions. I fairly believe that is in the eye of the cam-holder. And depends upon the looker's perception, as well.
Thank you for liking. :)