The Photographic World of Tom Wasilewski

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Category: Day after day… (page 1 of 30)

I Am the People, the Mob

I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool—then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name: “The People,” with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then.

I Am the People, the Mob

The City

These streets
are home to countless rodents
emerging but for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun
Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep

(Rats poem by Anthony Casamassima)

Sonnet 98

 

 

By William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight
Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

December 24th

A lot is going on and more is going on.
Days pass quietly and Old Year closes slowly – And a New, Wonderful Year soon knocks on our doors.
These are a few handfuls of pre-Christmas time on a sunny day yesterday.
Merry Christmas to everyone somewhere else.
May the Spirit of Good Christmas be among you.

Tom & Alicja

 

Bikez

Tom: Aren’t you scared you’ll kill yourself if you crash?

Burt Munro: No… You live more in five minutes on a bike like this going flat out than some people live in a lifetime.

“The World’s Fastest Indian”

August

Curious coincidences in our constellation
Unlike capturing a fallen star
These coincidences say this is a strange universe
Caramelized and caught in time

from

 

 

DB6

“Power, Beauty, and Soul.”
Aston Martin’s slogan

Chassis Number: DB6/3443/R
Engine Number: 400/3519
UK Registration Number: TVB 964 F
Date of first reg: 18th July 1968

Bric-à-brac

Bric-à-brac or bric-a-brac (origin French),[1] first used in the Victorian era,[2] refers to lesser objets d’art forming collections of curios, such as elaborately decorated teacups and small vases, compositions of feathers or wax flowers under glass domes, decorated eggshells, porcelain figurines, painted miniatures or photographs in stand-up frames, and so on.

In middle-class homes bric-à-brac was used as ornament on mantelpieces, tables, and shelves, or was displayed in curio cabinets: sometimes these cabinets have glass doors to display the items within while protecting them from dust. Today, “bric-à-brac” refers to a selection of items of modest value, often sold in street markets and charity shops, and may be more commonly known in colloquial English as “knick knacks.”
(Wikipedia)

 

Haar

The fair wind failed. The wind dropped. Winds were unfavourable
straightaway. The favourable wind dropped and they were beset by
storms so that they made little progress. Then the wind dropped and
they were beset by winds from the north and fog; for many days they
did not know where they were sailing. The fair wind failed and they
wholly lost their reckoning. They did not know from what direction.
Driven here and there. The fog was so dense that they lost all sense
of direction and lost their course at sea. There was much fog and the
winds were light and unfavourable. They drifted far and wide on the
high sea. Most of those on board completely lost their reckoning.
The crew had no idea in which direction they were steering. A thick
fog which did not lift for days. The ship was driven off course to
land. They were tossed about at sea for a long time and failed to
reach their destination. We embarked and sailed but a fog so thick
covered us that we could scarcely see the prow of the
boat

From “DRIFT”
by Caroline Bergvall

 

speed of sound

In a field
Turn round and around
Until the sky becomes the earth
Until the wind becomes
The motion to carry a thought
Until love moves at the speed of sound and rests upon a star

Darrel Weeks

 

 

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