What sort of man is it that when he looks out of the window, only sees himself starring back. Unable to see beyond the reflection. And if this man was to talk, and i mean really talk, honestly with conviction and release the anguish and self loathing in the way he spoke. What could he say.
"Every one has there own way of copying. Some look inwards, writing, thinking as a way to exercise some of there evils. Others look out to the world, recording it, looking to it for inspiration and comfort. They record the train ride home, the moments filled with solitude and longing, times of joy and exasperation. These are the moments they prey for, wait for, live for. the silent photographer, the poetic one."
a tribute to la peche
From Too Magenta
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