what do all these buildings mean?
each brick
each wall
they all stand for something.
am i standing up for nothing?
these structures stand solemn
while i sleep on the shore of this lake
with soil in my shoes and
despair
impairing my ability to breathe
turns out sunsets aren't enough
sometimes it seems
there's just a few words between
king of the hill
and
easy kill
sometimes you end
up
facedown
in the sand
or take a chance to find out
if you hold fingers in a hand
or lack of a plan
something worth the risk
or convenience store romance
i've been wrong so many times that it's hard to believe
blinded by this bitter heart
over the water
heavy over my head
now hear this
don't you care that i'm dying?
please separate your head from the pillow
can you hear
over my storming
save me.

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

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

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.

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.

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

will got married.

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

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.

2005.

































2008.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.