Monday, September 21, 2009
Yellow Zebras in Her Eyes, Lisboa/Portugal.
She thinks about prying her fingers under the yellow zebra lines then rolling them up big enough to fit in the back right side pocket of her denim jeans.
Lost Keys
Sunday Mid morning back from church. I followed a little story from the slam of a cab door up to the doorstep. 5 mins they argued as their hands explored their pockets for the front door key. Ugly Old but so very cute...
Miniature Streets
The empty miniature roads a flash of light on the walls from the briefly parted clouds. I can imagine a giant Portuguese gymnast taking a 2 stadium football field run up planting a hand on what appears to be the legs of a Olympic beam and flying off to Spain.
Under the Shadow of the Story Bridge, Lisboa/Portugal.
Under the shadow of the story bridge. A Musician with his guitar passes a mother and her small child. The child skips to the beat of the traffic passing above.
The Old Quivering House
Fast moving grey clouds and the high towering bridge stalk over the old quivering house.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tram Lines to the Sea
Tram lines carry the streets of Lisboa from the contrast of orange hot down to the cool blue ocean in the horizon. With the squealing of rusty breaks and the creaking of wooden doors through and around the falling hills.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Hitch Post
The hot blank skies offered no hope to escape from the entry ramp to the N267 for Portugal.
Hitch Post
All the great hitchhiking positions to the highway veins of Europa are marked with peoples names, dates and messages. I've started to write the hours I've been waiting for on the barriers, to warn drifters what they're in for and where they should stand.
Hitch Post
The hours of waiting seem to grow on me as I get further into Spain. Along side the dark facial hair, many spare seats and blank forgettable passing faces.
Good Spot, Somewhere/Spain.
The perfect place on the line of the law. Cars are just speeding up from the roundabout to make my 2 second impression, there's room ahead to pull over and the surface of the road is smooth so I can run up and throw my bag onto my back. Moments later I was lost in translation with Spanish polica, Only understanding the firm finger point in the opposite direction of the auto via.
Salamanca, Spain Bedroom
If you need a place to stay. Always go up to Spanish Gypsys who sit in circles on grassed areas outside towering cathedrals surrounded by black dogs.
The Watchkeeper
A old crumbled face watches on as I search the streets of Salamanca for a place to sleep.
Just Another Beautiful Cathedral
Another detailed cathedral turns a gold before resting its beauty through the blue night.
Flying to Salamanca
My final lift into Salamanca in a empty bus. He was the 25th person I asked and after people would spin their fingers around their ears and call me 'Loco.' It was a relief to set off with a superman view and a cold beer from the fridge.
The Obvious Way
After 4 days of sleeping by the river on a bed of leaves and dragging myself through the streets of Toledo with circus clowns necks following me. The sunset arched door towards the highway was the real obvious way.
Toledo, Spain Bedroom
Sleeping on top of the boundary wall that falls off into the river. Waking up to a walking tour of people with maps in their back pockets. I like to be that little bit of rust in the perfect lonely planet view.
Toledo, Spain Bedroom
The morning flash light view of my 1 night bedroom. The picture below shows what it was like at night time. Even though I tied my guitar strap around my wrist to prevent what I thought was a uncomfortable fall. I really wasn't ready for the revealing of the 6 stories fall. As I'm known to cover some distance with rolling in my sleep at night time. It did take the need for a morning coffee out of my routine though.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
A Rush of Blood to the Head
Photo taken 2 m behind the guy in the foreground. Always keeping one eye on the beast as he liked to change his direction often to test his speed and sharpness. The guy on the floor was okay, just winded. I don't know about the guy with the black and white t-shirt to the right though. A few moments after the photo was taken he was dragged along the wall for a very long uncomfortable length of time.
A Rush of Blood to the Head
Even though I was in the arena running with the same guys. I didn't have the art down like them. Jumping over it and letting the wind of the passing take the light dust off their shoes.
A Rush of Blood to the Head
A game of chicken played between two Spanish guys. I didn't see the guy with the white pants for a while after.
A Rush of Blood to the Head
People drag the Torro off the trampled kid. Looking at the photo I'm surprised how many smiling and laughing I found. Maybe it was the arrival of the sunlight over the arena wall. I didn't find anything funny about the moment.
A Rush of Blood to the Head
Runners just escape over the red fence. A few minuets after the shot was taken I was in the same position. As I was the only guy with pale skin and blonde hair (tourist) in the arena I received the loudest cheer on my behalf I have ever heard. The gladiator on looker spirit wanted me to ripped down and taken for a brutal ride along the sand. I didn't give the viewer the honer of such a spectacle as I don't think my travel insurance claim would go through.
Waiting for the Beast
On looker's hands hit the fence line that runs down the San Sebastion calle. Keeping beat to the rising of ' Oh la Oh la Oh la Oh la' which became very hauning as I began to stretch my legs.
Waiting for the Beast
It was these guys eyes that turned the moment of waiting for the Torros gun shot to sound from a exciting curiosity to a wholly fuck what am I doing in here feeling. As I looked around at newly bought running shoes and wide open edgy eyes patrolling the run way. The fence covered and blocked with locals shouting at me and polica smelling my breath for alcohol. I didn't sleep on a bit of cardboard all night to turn around so I waited for the gun to sound and my Adrenalin carried me the rest of the way.
San Sebastion Bedroom
Leaving the festival streets to get a good hours sleep before the run. Just my water bottle thoughts and I.
Hand Bag Lane
The 4 lights hanging above the bags threw fake pleather sparkle light every where lighting the calle covered with handbags, hats and those sunglasses that I've seen being sold on carpets all over Europa or from the coats and hands of people with a lost taste of originality.
Concerned Hands
A bus ride through the dessert city of Madrid. As hot afternoon sun is stopped by concerned hands.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
The last evidence of 40,000 people throwing tonnes worth of tomatoes at each other for a complicated hour goes down the drain.
Clown on the Run
Just managed to get a a Madrid on a bit of cardboard as the pen dries under the sun in the pocket of my bag. A few minutes later being picked by a emergency worker late for work.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
One of the cleaners in charge of one of the many water canons. Captured just before he turned around to wash the street clean.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
A girl tries to get her dad's attention as he watches a high pressure water hose brush over the windows of his tomato covered car.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
3 old friends find the aftermath cleanup of the food fight all to funny. As opposed to many other locals with the same brooms in their hands that scrap the side walks clean with lost smiles. A little bit of tomato peel sits around the nails of the lady to the right and the great smile on her face is a sign that she helped mess the streets up to.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
As I pass balconies and the doorsteps to houses. Water is thrown at me from kitchen pans or buckets. Nothing can get the chunks of of tomatos out of my hat or the vegatable blood of my t-shirt.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
As I walked down capturing the covered cars the area of the lane way got heavy and sticky with the smell of off tomatos in the sun.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
A lady in the background approaches her car. Her hands brushes away the chunks from the door hinges but as she opens the drivers side door chunks falls onto the seat. A very dramatic tyre print is left as the cars wheels spin off from the sticky red street.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
A line forms alongside the small river of tomato blood. They look up the lane way concerned as a waterfall of tomato peel flies off the wall as water canons hose everything down.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
A lady tries to take at the pool of tomato juice outside her house with buckets of water. Going inside to fill the bucket back up after every throw. Then every time she came back out her facial expression would slope down a little bit more.
Streets of Vegetable Blood
What looks like a staged shot.. 5 unsure faces looking up the calle 2 leaning on brooms a kid in his mum's arms a full bin and a backdrop wall covered by hard tomato throws.
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