Believe it or not...

D70 - 34mm, 1/125 sec f/9.5, ISO 400

While sleeping on greeny grass next to a slimy lake,
I swear!

A shrinking shriek - oh a most terrible one - set me awake

of all the creatures the pond could host,

believe it or not... I saw a ghost!

The nature of things

D70 - 24 mm, 1/90 sec f/13, ISO 200

Like a complex music,

sublime harmony forever played,

such is the nature of things.

While we shallowly seek louder sounds

the secret lies in whispers.

Unhidden.

IT version

Sometimes

D70 - 70mm, 1/320 sec f/6.3, ISO 200

Sometimes I wonder whether I know what I believe I know, and feel what I believe I feel.
And when I linger in these thoughts I realize how coward I am, for I wish I were forever blind to the truth. Feelings are filters which make me see what I want to see, and prune the unwanted. Such power is both terrifying and appealing, like the light to a moth. Similarly to the unlucky insect I fly to it unable to resist, and pleasure and pain are now but mingled.

IT version

Silenced scream

D70 - 105mm, 1/10 sec f/2.8, ISO 500

I wake in the morning and I don't know who I am. The pounding monster inside my chest shatters my entire existence. I am cold and stripped blank. I don't remember if I lived.
My bedroom seems far away and unfamiliar, as though I've wandered out of it. I feel the need to take a shower. Badly.
I scrub until my skin is red and tender, but I know the dirt is still there from the night before. I can see it glaring at me, mocking my efforts to wash clean. It knows I am weak. I try to hold back my tears of frustration at my skin, at myself.
Frustration alone keeps me alive, feeling, wishing. It forces blood to continue running through my veins. I blame myself. I cringe thinking about how I writhed in pain and bit my lip until it bled to stop the scream from waking the neighbors.
How unnatural it felt.
My spirit leaves its body during those nights. I am losing weight and sleep.
I look in the mirror and don't see myself anymore.

Text by Maggie Kacer

IT version

Love

D70 - 105mm, 4 sec f/2.8, ISO 200

I fear the day when you will ask me to quit,

still that day I will know you are loved again.

IT version

Future

E4300 - 8mm, 1/125 sec f/7.6, ISO 100

Tantalizing and coward

it follows the breath of my soul,

a thousand shapes envelop it

and the illusion only feels more real.

IT version

Small

D70 - 85mm, 1/180 sec f/19, ISO 200

With open mind, right before falling asleep,

I relish a feeling of gratefulness

for I understand I am very small,

and yet not negligible.

There is hardly a greater relief.

IT version

Un - likelihood

D70 - 52mm, 1/350 sec f/2.8, ISO 1600

Unlikely words are likely to say

unusual things over common truths.

IT version

Towards spring

E4300 - 15mm, 1/13 sec f 3.8, ISO 100

Icy winds on a wounded soul

whose friends and love are but a dream

her heart is true, and her spirit whole

can words alone become a scream?

IT version

Reflections

D70 - 105mm, 1/90 sec f/11, ISO 400

I seek you, for you are my mirror.

I love you, for I seek myself.

IT version

Erosion

D70 - 24mm, 3 sec f/16, ISO 200

My hair was longer back then, and in the early morning breeze it caught around my nose and eye lashes. His black waves seemed to be handling it better. It seems odd to me now, but the first thing I fell in love with was his hair: soft, smooth and in control.
Climbing down the stairs that were built into the sandstone, we walked through the field in silence, content to enjoy the spring sun. He reached out for my hand and I let him take it; I'm still not sure why. When he smiled at me, I became motionless in black and white: a perfect memory until we came upon the crashing waterfall. The drops dove from the top of the rock into the stream below as if they knew there was no other fate. I pulled out the awkward and large camera from my bag. Later, he would tell me that picture looked like a postcard.
As his long legs carried him next to the soft spoken stream, I tried to tame his body language through my photographs: the way he leaned to see into the water and tilted his head to stare up at the stone. He called for me to keep up. I noticed the water had torn away at so much of the dirt and rock that I wondered how many more years would pass before the stream no longer wound its way lazily to the Mississippi, but met it in a straight line that was direct and to the point.
He stepped onto the sand and bent over making shapes and faces in it. I fixed the focus on my camera insecurely and planned out what part of the stream I wanted. He knew I wanted more: pictures, memories, the stream. He smiled and waited, holding the stiff pose. "Take the picture," he said flatly through his teeth. I paused for a moment, surprised by his tone. As I heard the snap of the camera, I noticed how loud the water had become. It was less of a murmur now and more of a scream that ran through my body. It ripped down stream to its destination, unaware of the damage it was causing. The massive rock loomed behind us.
As we climbed the sandstone steps again, I grabbed my wild hair at the back of my neck and resolved to cut it.

Text by Maggie Kacer

IT version

Remembering

D70 - 105mm, 6,0 sec f/13, ISO 200

Golden blonde, coy and reserved,

hard, fragile, mysteriously hidden

from my eyes, sought in vain,

furtively kissed, where unreal flowers bloom.

IT version

Transmutation

D70 - 105mm, 1/45 sec f/11, ISO 200

In all truth,

death can't be the end.

IT version