December 25, 2011
Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?Top 10 Christmas Movies → It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)
December 10, 2011
December 9, 2011
December 8, 2011
[Image: Five photos of a child with short hair curled up in a plastic box, standing on a foggy road holding a toy baby, lying on the ground with a vacuum cleaner cable making a circle from their mouth to their ear, with their head in what looks like a large crumpled jar, sat on a bed embracing a branch from a tree]
Echolilia
All parents love their children. But what do you do when you can’t connect with them? In my case, I started making photographs of, and with, my son Elijah, who has autism spectrum disorder. This series—the title is from “echolalia,” a clinical term for the mimicking aspect of his condition—shows the bridges we’ve built on our shared journey of wonder, discovery, and understanding.
We began this project when Eli was five. He was doing well at school but fixating on odd things, lashing out, speaking repetitively. My wife and I couldn’t figure him out. Then I started taking pictures of him around the house. It was an instinctive act for a photographer: Point your camera at something in order to make sense of it. But a curious thing happened. As I documented what Eli was doing and creating, he became interested in the images I was making. I was learning how he thinks; he was learning what I like and value.
We soon had a system. Eli would do something unusual, one of us would notice, and we’d make a photo of it together. The pictures we took over three years were more raw and feral than anything I’d done as an editorial or advertising photographer. And more personal. This is, after all, the story of a father and his son.
Timothy Archibald’s book, Echolilia: Sometimes I Wonder, was published last year by Echo Press. See more of his work at timothyarchibald.com.
I saw his pictures in the last NatGeo. Would love to get his book.
This is beautiful. Echolalia can also occur in Schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s too, fyi.
[Image: Circles on the floor and ceiling of a white and grey gallery-type space rise upwards and downwards respectively with cylinders made out of medication bottles. It looks kind of like stalagmites and stalagtites]
(Source: pulmonaire)
December 6, 2011
I know a doctor around my age who is so distraught with his practice because he remembers a time forty years ago when he could say: “Hey Bill, can you take a look at this patient?” And it would happen within a day or two, sometimes even the same day! Now he does his clinics, sees patients in the wards, treats them, refers them, and the wait list is measured in weeks to months.
He is tired and he is sick with the system.
But you guys are lucky in a way, because this is what you are inheriting. You have no comparison to a different time. You can only look at this system we have built now and act on the question: How can I make this system better than it is now? There will be no time to be nostalgic when you are young and headstrong.
December 3, 2011
December 2, 2011
You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool. Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,
leave the image of him kissing another woman
in the toilet.
In the morning, her name will be
in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the best friend again. He invites
you over for dinner and you say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight.
In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil,
not everything you have every loved about him,
or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible
and so close. You will find her bobby pins
laying innocently on his bathroom sink.
Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs
of spiders, splinters of her undressing
in his bed. Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them
home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice.
At home, you will picture her across town
pressing her fingers into his back
like wet cement. You will wonder
if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms
in the same house. Did he fall for her features
like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,
does she taste like wet paint?
You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like you are always
ticking inside of me and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.
Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.
(Source: theoryoflostthings)
November 27, 2011
sooo nice
Raleigh Denim signature selvedge details: outseams, vertical coin-pocket edge, center back belt loop
