Architecture of Cities: Mapping Beautiful 2

I imagine my streets can be seen by communal birds roosting in trees- -or possibly Mars: I stroll- -infused by the potion dependency nepenthe: My strides become burdenless: My breath is heard burdenless: The never notion that I might need to be me clears the mind: The moments are followed by my masterplans; the engagement of opportunities to capture:

I begin from here.

Afar and near lies in the composed composition: The storyboard frames my image as it might my life: The edifice as evidence of city’s architecture rises before my eyes: There is a calm that looks like whispers in the grass: My camera’s aperture sweet spot detects a setting moving forward: My eyes having lived in f/2 and f/16 days find a home at f/8.

I shoot- -something of mine, mine eyes. I know what I know is my visual gospel.

My eyes open largely to share something built that largely stands patiently before me: I am almost always ready to capture: The moment manifests- -the dream becomes near: I see how the circus “…tamer” domesticates his striated cats; the beasts’ wildness; the beasts in the streets the streets beastly beautiful natural nature: Then might there be a hushed “Shhhhhh!” not a mouse or wildebeest would don a look towards in askance: My control is nearly frozen in the bliss the camera sees: My eyes control sounds near and far: My mind plays games oblivious and aligned with realities’ nightmares: I begin from here.

My surroundings envelop my praise for wonder and my fear for dangers- -always while alone: I wonder what was here before today: Capturing something every waking nanosecond: My imagination considers all of history’s past and most of history’s futures: I have stood here before: I repeat to myself; psychotically almost; what did I see before; before I was, what was here:

My streets awaken: I greet all possibilities as one: My eyes are met quietly- -again another whisper seen equal to nature’s differential spectral: Unconsciously I may blink: Never merely one eye- – but two as one:

My experiences begin wrapped tightly: Then my entire time on earth is seen unfurling and abound; My history’s naked universe is a single aperture opening: I set forth to see what is imaginable to be architecture: I begin from here.

Kingdoms surround: The quiet din is heard above every street corner: Horns and pedaling shoes careen and echo through avenues, streets, cul-de-sacs and more: Yarn wrapped mallets tinker atop a vibraphonists metal keys: The acoustical timbre draws from nations within cities- -cities from nations across continents: The eyes witness the rising animal kingdom: Imaginations embrace all gatherings of species: Some things heard equally mirrors and echoes enthusiastic imaginations: Cinematic meditation elucidates past exposures: Michael Caine’s British, fighting the South African Zulu; Errol Flynn’s “Custer” standing near death against the oncoming Sioux, Cheyenne; Spencer Tracy’s “Stanley” encumbered and surrounded by Makololo and Pygmy African Congolese tribes:  Every memory of sound and sights eventually find habitation in mind and heart. Alone with my mere thoughts- -in a blink everything (as I pause to nimbly caress my shutter) is  “Caspered” in a blink.

I begin from here.

Everything becomes anomalous: I see not the sounds nor sights: I see imagined, someone or more watching: I imagine practicing how to eliminate what I cannot see and focus on how to see what is here: I imagine I play in the game of hide and seek: I hide from the direct sun: I seek the light- – today:

I am looking for signs in all of my days: I stretch all and most physiological parts that may repose in angles- – be my angle of repose. The moment belongs to my eyes- -and begin again:

In every capture there is a dream: It is as if I am splayed across a land of ideas: Yet it is only a city street and an idea built around a portended capture: A painter’s easel adorned with canvas awaits my capture: I begin from here.

My eyes race to get it: I can walk away: Turn my back to what I know: It is a test to qualify if, if I have seen enough; If, what is framed in celluloid is mine. I pause to entangle my minds’ light: The query among a day of queries begs for a simple answer- – Have I done enough.

Most and some architecture poses in someone’s memory: It is a place situated before all ages of history and futures to imagine: Joy, grief and an entire display of our human comedies gather for one frame of celluloid: This life of mine embraces every movement on the universes timepiece: I begin again from here.