music.

i've been writing, playing, recording, and producing music in my basement the last few days.
isn't that what everyone does over the holidays?

check out some of the songs on cameron foltz' myspace page. the majority of these were recorded in my basement, and the first two ("friends" and "smells like a rose") are great. we recorded and mixed all this on christmas eve and christmas. i played some glockenspiel on "smells like a rose" and jared smith played drums on both tracks. cameron wrote, sang, and played guitar on each of the tracks.

then we spent roughly 23407 hours mixing remixing leveling compressing fading looping reverbing gating eqing and remixing it all.

i think they're quite nice.
check it out: http://www.myspace.com/cameronfoltz

Posted at at 4:51 PM on Friday, December 26, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under: ,

oh! brother.

my reflection in a teapot
wrapped and warped and wider than it should be
his reflection in the rearview eyes set towards dc
and he's moved before but each time i miss him more

little light bulbs reflected through tiny glass beads
there's a little of this light reflected in you and me
when we grew up drifting apart
when the further you moved the more you occupy my heart

there's smoke in the air there's carpet on these chairs
a hookah hose snakes between my toes that point towards capitol hill
exhaust pipe drops hot condensation on the turnpike
tires turn your face to your destination

lungs fill and exhale in lonely exasperation
to say 'what moves you to move away?
what couldn't you find here, what stinging in your ears?'
playing phone tag with opportunity, but she never called me back

i'll see you for the holidays
i'll see you later

one of these days we'll all stop moving away
one of these day's we won't say goodbye, we won't need to cry
but not out of refusal to stain our faces,
oh brother, we won't have to cry
and we won't be reflections, we won't look in mirrors, cause' we'll all face the same way
higher than the washington monument, above all our tears and fearful impoverishment
oh brother, we won't have to cry- oh brother, we won't have to cry
oh brother, we won't have to cry
oh brother, oh brother, we won't have to cry

----
for my two brothers who moved away this year

Posted at at 1:27 PM on Monday, December 22, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under:

you've gotta make your own kind of music



finger piano. found., originally uploaded by mrpittman.
well first off, i wake every morning these days to my roomate's cell phone playing 'make your own kinda music' by the mama's and the papa's. not a bad way to wake up.

that may be the most apostrophe's i have ever used in a sentence.

aside from that, i have been making a lot of music and will hopefully be taking some time to record as much as possible end of this month, then i can put it up for any willing ears to hear.

i also found this tiny piano.

Posted at at 9:28 AM on Tuesday, December 9, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under: ,

so little - milosz.


up against., originally uploaded by mrpittman.
i said so little.
days were short.

short days.
short nights.
short years.
i said so little.
i couldn't keep up.

my heart grew weary
from joy,
despair,
ardor,
hope.

the jaws of leviathan
were closing upon me.
naked, i lay on the shores
of desert islands.
the white whale of the world
hauled me down to its pit.

and now I don't know
what in all that was real.

Posted at at 1:11 PM on Thursday, November 20, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under: , ,

winter.



roadtrip. niagara falls, originally uploaded by mrpittman.
don't your heart beat for a car crash, for a summer storm?
don't these winters fill you with stockholm summer syndrome?

Posted at at 7:42 PM on Monday, November 10, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under: ,

Nov. 4th, 2008.

Posted at at 1:21 AM on Thursday, November 6, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

Posted at at 12:28 PM on Wednesday, October 22, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

writing in color.


i've been writing in color.



there are a couple of old folks standing on the side of the highway crying.
surrounded by long cars, blue hearts, and black clothes, they hold onto each other with a desperation of being so anchored to one another they would surely be cast off the spinning world if they let go. in avoidance of careening into lonely, suffocating space, they have dashed themselves each upon the rock that is the other.

/-/

the streetlight outside my hosue won't stay on. or off. it flares to yellow life, ignites white, then dies a cool blue death every thirty seconds.
perhaps it is my heart; imprisoned in an indecisive incandescent glass case. raised so high on my sleeve that it illuminates my footsteps.

Posted at at 6:29 PM on Saturday, October 11, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

tree. i10.


tree. i10., originally uploaded by mrpittman.

i have driven by this tree so many times and always thought i should stop and look at it.
it took maybe seven years to get around to it but i did it. it's a nice tree.

Posted at at 9:37 AM on Tuesday, September 2, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under:

will and liz. group.


will and liz. group., originally uploaded by mrpittman.

will got married.

Posted at at 10:44 PM on Wednesday, August 20, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

break a leg

how it tears me apart to think you might not finish what you started
might not make her feel your earth shake beneath her feet
make her brush move in strokes that she can't speak
her blue eyes are just to small if she won't let you open them to the enormity of us all
to see how ugly she would be if she's all alone
or how she could define beauty if you looked like you

don't let her take another step on steady legs, step in her direction
she's not going to stop until she feels the pain of your affection
oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg
if that's what it takes to rescue her
cause i hope she can't walk without your shoulder beneath her

everyone's going out with girls with short hair, she cut hers and i said i didn't care
but i hope it grows back pretty as before
i hope she comes out hopeful as a newborn
seven thousand miles isn't so far as the differences in who we are
drew her a leaf, drew her a baobab flower
cause we're so prone to wander, so afraid to embrace our reckless mutual lover

open wider wild kaleidoscope eyes, prone to wander, prone to dream alone
see how his love pursues you, how he loves you more than the ninety-nine on steady legs

oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg
don't let her take another step on steady legs, step in her direction
she's not going to stop until she feels the pain of your affection
oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg,
if that's what it takes
cause i hope she can't walk without your shoulder beneath her

Posted at at 6:31 PM on Wednesday, August 13, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under:

moving times.

i've been moving a lot.

but i am finally in a permanent home. i live in a large white house at the corner of 5th ave. and Bronough St. there is a basement full of creepy left behind objects and a backyard that disappears out of sight in every direction.
there are boxes and bicycles in every room. there is a lot of work to be done. but soon, our little community will be off the ground and the backyard will disappear into gardens of herbs and vegetables and little outdoor tables.

soon i'll post pictures.

this is not my house.
tyk. house.

Posted at at 2:01 PM on Thursday, August 7, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under: ,

three years.

2005.

































2008.

Posted at at 12:20 PM on Friday, August 1, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

still here...

i'm currently homeless and real busy, hence the lack of updates.

for now, you should check out my mom's blog. i just updated it with a new layout so if you love donuts, my family, or moms, you'll probably be thrilled to see it.
-h

Posted at at 4:00 PM on Monday, July 28, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

scared to touch.



texture study 2, originally uploaded by mrpittman.
and i'll be the first to cross every line you've drawn
last to admit that i've done anything wrong
scared to move because i always hit something
i hit walls, hit the roof, hit the blank spots in my head
but all the stupid things i have to say
they all skip town when you come around

i'll keep my mouth shut because i don't want to spook you
and i'll keep my heart shut because i'm searching for excuses
like 'i've been hurt before' and 'everything i touch just falls apart
when the truth is i'm just scared to touch
porcelain, glass, and questions i could never ask

Posted at at 6:43 PM on Friday, June 27, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under: ,

the great dance.


ballet recital., originally uploaded by mrpittman.
...He thought he saw the Great Dance. It seemed to be woven out of the intertwining undulation of many cords or bands of light, leaping over and under one another and mutually embraced in arabesques and flower-like subtleties. Each figure as he looked at it became the master-figure or focus of the whole spectacle, by means of which his eye disentangled all else and brought it into unity--only to be itself entangled when he looked to what he had taken for mere marginal decorations and found that there also the same hegemony was claimed, and the claim made good, yet the former pattern thereby disposed but finding in its new subordination a significance greater than that which it had abdicated.
...wherever the ribbons or serpents of light intersected minute corpuscles of momentary brightness: and he knew somehow that these particles were the secular generalities of which history tells--people, institutions, climates of opinion, civilizations, arts, sciences and the like--ephemeral coruscations that piped their short song and vanished. The ribbons or cords themselves, in which millions of corpuscles lived and died, were the things of some different kind. At first he could not say what. But he knew in the end that most of them were individual entities.
If so, the time in which the Great Dance proceeds is very unlike time as we know it. Some of the thinner more delicate cords were the beings that we call short lived: flowers and insects, a fruit or a storm of rain, and once (he thought) a wave of the sea. Others were such things we think lasting: crystals, rivers, mountains, or even stars.
Far above these in girth and luminosity and flashing with colours form beyond our spectrum were the lines of personal beings, yet as different from one another in splendour as all of them from the previous class. But not all the cords were individuals: some of them were universal truths or universal qualities. It did not surprise him then to find that these and the persons were both cords and both stood together as against the mere atoms of generality which lived and died in the clashing of their streams...
The whole figure of thier enamored and inter–inanimate circling was suddenly revealed as the mere superficies of a far vaster pattern in four dimensions, and that figure as the boundary of yet others in other worlds: till suddenly as the movement grew yet swifter, the interweaving yet more ecstatic, the relevance of all to all yet more intense, as dimension was added to dimension and that part of him which could reason and remember was dropped further and further behind that part of him which saw, even then, at the very zenith of complexity, complexity was eaten up and faded, as a thin white cloud fades into the hard blue burning of sky, and all simplicity beyond all comprehension, ancient and young as spring, illimitable, pellucid, drew him with cords of infinite desire into it’s own stillness.
He went up into such a quietness, a privacy, and a freshness that at the very moment when he stood farthest from our ordinary mode of being he had the sense of striping off encumbrances and awaking from a trance, and coming to himself.

Posted at at 11:20 AM on Monday, June 16, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under: ,

placation.


couch. blue-ish., originally uploaded by mrpittman.
Why are people content to live in this beautiful world with everything still
wrapped in cellophane?
i will update. soon.

Posted at at 10:34 AM on Tuesday, May 27, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under:

waldo. katie.


waldo. katie. (UPDATED), originally uploaded by mrpittman.

just a picture. while i think of things to write.

Posted at at 1:42 AM on Thursday, May 15, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under:

were i some sleeping adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to council your steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love- that i stepped up my aim and became a man. though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in doing so, revealing Him.

Posted at at 1:32 AM on Thursday, April 17, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under: ,

wake up new york
we'll drive five thousand awkward miles
we'll drive until we find your smile

east coast on parade
it's pretty out the window
but beauty in the passenger seat

i came knocking at your door
came throwing rocks at your window
i come kicking down the door now
i come with your smile

sleep tight savannah
wake up more beautiful
always more beautiful

2.
picture of us
far away form home
you shoulder's on mine
but your heads the other way
its a perfect picture
of the way you stand today

so don't sing
because it breaks my heart
to hear your voice
if your not singing about me
and dont pose for my photographs
if you're going to look at him tonight
don't drive me across the country
if you left my heart in tallahassee

we've seen the whole east coast
but the only thing worth packing for
is the thing that hurts me most
i'd rather have you breaking my heart
than have it wholly to myself

Posted at at 1:18 AM on by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

as the ruin falls - clive staples lewis



all this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
i never had a selfless thought
since i was born.
i am a mercenary
and self-seeking through and through:
i want God, you, all friends,
merely to serve my turn-
peace, re-assurance, pleasure,
are the goals i seek,
i cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
i talk of love
-a scholar's parrot may talk greek-
but, self-imprisoned,
always end where i begin.
only that now you have taught me
my lack.
i see the chasm.
and everything you are was making my heart into a bridge
which i might get back from exile, and grow man.
and now the bridge is breaking
for this i bless you as the ruin falls.
the pains you give me are more precious than all other gains.

Posted at at 12:42 AM on Friday, April 4, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under:

savannah & bikes


savannah & bikes, originally uploaded by mrpittman.

i'm back from jacksonville, savannah, maggie valley, new york, niagara, ontario, new york, agusta, portland, new york, and savannah.

i don't have any desire to go to new york ever again really. i didn't want to go there in the first place.

savannah wins first city i've stayed in that had no electricity at all
savannah also wins best city ever
new jersey wins worst city that i didn't even stay in
niagara wins the 'why would anyone live here' award
maggie valley wins the most comfy medal of honor

the other cities were good too. i have hundreds of pictures and a stack of polaroids that i will put someplace for people to see... stories from the trip might filter in over a while if i ever write a real update. i was disappointed to have to miss dan and bethany's wedding, really really, but as important as it was there were other priorities.

Posted at at 11:55 PM on Sunday, March 16, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under: ,

i.love.this.picture.


zulu and molly, originally uploaded by mrpittman.
i'm leaving in a few hours on a photography road trip that will take me all the way up 95... jacksonville, savannah, richmond (?), new york, boston, portland... i've packed four cameras, three tripods, and too many filters and assorted parts to even begin to remember.

this may be the best thing i have done with my life ever.

Posted at at 3:14 PM on Saturday, March 8, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under: ,

here.

here i built fortress in the woods to escape from being there
here i learned to love cigarettes and rebellion
here i escaped into my self-pity and fear
here i cried and laughed alone

here the shooting stars meant that you loved me
here nothing had to make sense
here the memories were palpable and unbearable
here i never wanted to leave to go back to my room

here, where the azalea bushes srpang and memories of innocence went to rot
here, where the watching windows could not see me
here, where the cinder block headstones held up the weight
here, where the world stepped off my shoulder

here, here alone i feel at home

Posted at at 2:04 AM on Thursday, February 28, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

(now with 20% more links!)

st. teresa 03
super 2008 valentines day playlist


Posted at at 11:04 AM on Friday, February 15, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 1 comments   | Filed under:

jolly jo is a harsh mistress

jolly jo's child care is down the street from my house. it lists over on a hill in midtown, servicing the low end of the income scale, people who need to leave their kids somewhere while they shuffle carts at publix. there is a pair of plastic "f-14 tomcat" bouncy seats in the yard, allowing the children to indulge in fantasies of shooting down early 90's iranian jets during the gulf war. there is also a punching bag. i have never seen any children there, but i imagine there are a number of very tough pre-schoolers that spend their days 'going to the mattresses' and sitting in the plastic jets making explosion sounds with their mouths as they fight to maintain america's interests in the middle east.

before the sun faded the paint on the playground equipment, before we all grew up, children played there while i made my own playdough at a church that saw 8,000 people on most sundays. this church has indoor playground equipment and an arsenal of slip-n-slides that were rolled out once a month to allow the middle class baptist kids of florida to enjoy themselves amidst the cacophony of bruised knees and hose water.

i think the kids is midtown needed the punching bags more than they needed air conditioning and regularly maintained play equipment. while i was listening to threats of "we can call your father" these kids were getting a head start education in the heartache of being alive. they took out their frustration on a punching bag, i ate my own playdough. and while no one ever hit me and i saw my father on a regular basis, they knew far more about life than i did. at that point i probably could not have handled the knowledge they were acquiring, but it makes me wonder exactly how much you can shelter a child before you start to harm him.

Posted at at 6:24 PM on Tuesday, January 29, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under:

always maybe


said that girl is gonna ruin you
and i only hoped you would
now i guess i'm spoiled
looking for a colorful girl
in a black and white world
what about that other girl
she's pretty when she's wasted
and tonight she's pretty wasted
but she's back in the hallway
making out with strangers

maybe everything said was a lie
or maybe only when i said goodbye
so baby jump the gun
baby jump the gun
and sitting in your shadow
was warmer than the sunrise
but when you couldn't take me anymore
my heart set on the water
and it hasn't come back up
maybe everything you was a lie
or maybe only when i said goodbye
so baby jump the gun
baby jump the gun

Posted at at 4:27 PM on Wednesday, January 23, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 0 comments   | Filed under: , ,

The Peace of Wild Things


dock HDR, originally uploaded by mrpittman.
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
--Wendell Berry

Posted at at 10:33 AM on Friday, January 11, 2008 by Posted by hunter | 2 comments   | Filed under: ,