A Tribute of Affection Bring

Writings of a Poet, A. J. Thompson, 1838-1851

I will be publishing poems and writings from a book I purchased today. One a day. You will want to read these, i only wish you could see the penmanship.

The back story

I wish I could write like I thought when daydreaming. This morning having completed my first assignment for Time Magazine, I made my way to John K King Books in Detroit. I strolled through the old books section picking up one copy of the New Testament printed in 1670 to read. It was in Latin and leather bound with an asking price of 450. “I feel less intelligent being around all of these books” I told a woman who was surprised I had started a conversation. “Start Reading” she suggested.

My friend Amos and I walked into another room to find a elderly woman reading while standing. Above her a sign hung listing the various sections at the doorway of a room behind her; “-Sports (with a dash as it was listed above another section) -Occult (also with a dash on faded paper). “Were you looking for the sports that the Occult play? If so it is in that direction” she laughed.

Making my way to the counter without a book I saw a variety of classic photo albums from the early 1900s for 200-500 dollars. Nothing was in my price range. Upon leaving I saw this little book with 35 dollar price tag from the corner of my eye or I stood and stared at it for a few minutes, either way it did not meet my fancy for the 10 minutes I was by it for some time.   The case for why I picked up the red broken, tattered journal in a plastic sleeve was mainly because if it were new, I would purchase the same design, make and build to record what I felt needed recording ( I have filled out 9 journals in 6 years/28 countries and I still feel behind).

The Authors

Inside Page, “To Little Book and from each heart a tribute of affection bring  M.H.C.H.”

It appears this book was passed among friends, among lovers but lovers only in the emotional sense, among a Mary A. Millis and a Morris Z. James. There are roughly 100 pages all weather and age has seen. Contributing authors so far as I have read include CMP, B Phillips, and Bath and Kitts. It seems all lived in a tiny New York, or Oregonian, town of Oswego. The Main poet who has mostly written to the beauty of named Mary is A. J. Thompson.

Following a few poems about friends yields a dedication page, “This book is open for good advice, not (underscored) for flattery“.

I am yet to decide whether to write the poems in order or as I chose, The dated poems are not in chronological order.

From the Middle of the Book,

Beauty is never so lovely and attractive as when it is hidden beneath the veil of retiring modesty. The most beautiful flowes of the garden, that most attracts and harms the senses, never appears so lovely as when it is behold, sweetly preping from the midst of its curtain of green leaves, which serve to partially proect it, from the sun and elements, and render its charms doubly interesting and beautiful.

A. J. Thompson, July 13, 1841

It seems Careless

You know each person searching after you. You know their steps because they are following in yours. Each person who is weary or downhearted, strengthen them. Step towards judgment, step towards peace. Insert title but see what a world can’t.

Two Masters? It is hard to narrow all that I serve to less than 9 so please Lord lessen me the 8 but with mercy and grace.

Alone I find you, my head toward heaven

looking towards others are the needs you prompt me to bare in burden.

If my voice may be heard across the world, will you carry it a message of yours alone.

Live Blogging from Church

Jesus is the truth. Paul was in the jail and God shook the bounderies and the jail opened. After the jailor came into the cell realizition the jail was opened he was thinking of suicide. When he saw Paul he got down on his knees and asked Paul, “What must I do to be saved?”

The Jailor, a free man, ran into a jail to talk to a Jesus filled man and asked what must I do to be saved. When God does miracles like opening up the jail cells of our lives, it is often, most often for those around us he is talked to bring them closer to him.

Jesus stepped out of heaven for your personally. He is the only one in all religions who say, “I am the Truth” and he continues, “the way and the life”. If you believe in Jesus you will be saved.

Look at what Jesus taught. How does that experience affect you? We are kind because he is kind, but that is not enough. Look at the Word and the Wonder. Look at the miracles Jesus has performed.

WE have a savior that just doesn’t live, but lives in us. WE have to tell the story. It is the gospel. From Gen 1 to Rev 22. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is true. Mark 2:6 “What is this wisdom that has been given that he even does miracles!”

Take the passage John 14:6 and compare it to any other religion. You will not find it anywhere else.

Chicas Praying For Healing, Real Church, Hamtramck

less words

When I was 21 I could not convey my idealism or dreams in one 5 minute sitting. I was told I did not know what I want. In response I told everything I wanted but not in a Christmas list manner but in an idealistic matter. Everything could happen and my words could be the push factor for the happening.

At 23 I could not convey to a New York Times editor what I wanted to do as a photographer in less that 5 minutes. It was 2 am in a barn in New York. Words upon words and many dreamed filled metaphors brought out not a single tangilbe dream of mine. Explanations that never ended only compounded to find some other realm to talk about.

Now 6 years later, I find that my idealism exits stronger than before yet I use less words because my search is more refined. More faith meets the greater questions that exist. The stakes are higher with larger budgets and bills. I have become patient knowing in a confident sense that I am young and have much to learn.

Wait and be patient, everyone who is younger, Your purpose will come. It is ok not to know but waist not in the reality that you are young but with ambition and contentment, await eagerly the dreams you have in your heart only to be brought by God and your mind will be blown.

My 6th trip to Asia, 2nd time to China, 19 days from now.

I was exploring an abandoned building last night and came across this group of people from the suburbs who were tipping had spent 3 months trying to push this truck off the 4th story of the packard plant for the fun of it. Not sure what the photos are worth, but wanted to send them along in case. I have more, just wanted to send you two for now. I have been doing a story the scrappers and urban spelunkers for the past 2 years. Crazy city.

51 Psalm

Detroit you have been so good to me,

now the hands of tribes wipe clean the thoughts and pride of thee.

Let my broken bones rejoice,

Foreigners pay the price of a our nations choice.

Let my broken bones rejoice,

One day all will price out sins calm collective noise.

Justice, hear old melodies, built then deconstructed

by old photography, held by new with their valor interrupted.

My industry points only to me echoed by a name far away hollered

by the publics dollar hung now around presidents emerged collar.

Wish I More, Still 9 to Me

And what are we to consider, that rides on angels wings? Our loved one or the trouble of distant gun? Adopting worried cares complete with burdens and stares disciples need never filled.  Haste isn’t laid down when brides are won. And angels come at the distant gun. What is range if the sniper looks and sees both target and enemy the same? Why disprove non fiction by argument and verse when all you need is at your hand, until it’s gone. A scientist will say their stone is a fact until Obama or another stone brings something to distract.

God is God for as long as man can remember. Planet Pluto was pronounced dead last September, what is to disprove but truth that man has made? For we are so smart now! We know that we know less about things smart people know they know nothing about! Us In the middle of financial shade, so close as friends to the capital giving light and blame! If your argument is, “Raised you were which is why you are”, then why did planet pluto die? I was raised to know Jesus and the 9 planets. 7 or 8 left, i am not sure. Three years of paleontology gave me a deeper love for the study of.

Pluto; KIA by a science board which is out to prove.

Compound intelligence gives us only technology. Science proves we know little, there is a lot to know, and what we do know gives us a glimpse at the intricacies of God design.

Late is the only time to write. People expect early and forget after which causes the surprise.

Next Year in Christian Science Monitor and a pulpit near you; Da Vinci is found out to be the father of an ape, which he adopted, in a scandal, by finding a code (with some kind of fallen priest) about modern day hatred between whomever wants to hate and whomever else wants to hate. In the next issue, “What does proving prove?” and, “Dodgeball gives you cancer!”

Everyone Misses It

An immediate fierce cannon of questioning shrapnel billows and busts as consequences are fondled following that oh small still quiet voice breathing over a whisper, encouraging as it guides, the small quiet voice that says, “Wait”.

I would suggest not to miss it twice.

Chin to Shoulder, Should The Conductor?

I have decided that I need to create.

I am a filmmaker. I am a photographer. The steps I to take are large.  The steps taken reflect willingness to search for what calls, to appease, I the interrogation.

Doubt hinders imagination.

I’ve Taken steps to appease the interrogation of the doubt that hinders imagination. Because of that I create.

Editing a film is much like conducting a symphony. Because of that I create.
Each element i have to work with has a life, a length or period of time of value that can be held, interpreted, interrupted, presented or carried in the piece. Like notes, the progression of time in a film is carried by the guidelines of thematic time.
The audience sits behind the eyes of the conductor who stands between them and his symphony. Who is focused on the quality of symphony and who is focused on the feeling in the reception of the symphony?  As I conduct, nor my hands nor eyes equally sway the clips of individual film segments but it is my heart that eventually brings the chaos of the day’s shoot together.  Like bows that form vocal chords of a string orchestra, the screen becomes the center piece and my voice indirect. The audience and the screen and I.

At my first premier last Wednesday in San Francisco I found that the conductor can only look at one musician at a time and can not look for approval or temperature to the eyes that lay in audience.  The conductor can only set his hand equipped with the tool of his craft to the tune of his heart and feel out the elements around him fortifying the message he is presenting. The conductor must feel, the conductor should know all. Should the conductor though ever face the audience to see the response at any point in the performance? Even for a peak? If for heavens sake the conductor does look for reaction not a single note will be in rhythm for when one note in off, then all are off.

The screen last Wednesday night became my conducting hands as my movie went through the dialog, as I starred at the backlit heads of my audience, as my client paid film followed the rules of journalism. 134 audience members, 56,495 notes/frames, and I. Creation complete.

I have decided that I am playing for an audience that doesn’t consist of the perpetrators of silent positive, silent negative, outsourced, written or the latter, tonal, critique.

I am playing for an audience of one of many.

Thank you

Jesus.  I need to give a testimony and don’t know how.

26 years should show faith worked sweat stains, wiped from my brow.

I want to know my father in love, trust, friendship and conversation

but only receive a response when I approach the harvester’s plantation.

For in the plantation resides the methods of tried and truth,

inhibitions count 10 paces, electoral attempts in conscience count 9

to decide what relation means just I to ask john wilkes booth

when the mile markers make the final count down of time.

I just want Him to talk to me. That is it. That is all.

One more day with one more try. i will meet my curtain call.

Most Beautiful Place to Everything

The beach where I stayed an swayed with the current’s tide and Italian pride.

Me in Cefalu on the last day in Italy. finishing dinner in 15 minutes with a 15 minute walk to the train station to catch a train that is arriving in 20 minutes. Rush doesn’t exist in this country.

Calub, my nephew, reaches for bubbles at my brother’s wedding in Sweden. The couple in love are now both related to me.

View from Raccadilla, Sicilia.

Two hours of standing in a full train to Sicilia from Roma. 1 hour later I sat down for the first time with 5 boys from Cantania.

on the train from Roma to Sicilia the train breaks up and goes on a boat for one hour.

A girl sings about school, lit by a solar powered lantern.

King of Jama sets up his court for a photograph in front of his new solar panels. Ghana.

Me on my Vespa in Milazzo, Sicilia.

Mersella dictating by action that she will not descide which shirt looks better on me. Rome.

Calub his dad and my dad on a rest by the chanel watching the boats go by. Sweden.

Maria gets escorted into the 1935 Rolls Royce by her husband; my younger brother.

World meet Cefalu. I can’t believe I had the time of my life over the past 1.5 months in 5 different countries and 3 different continents. Continental breakfasts and peacocks, hydro dams and gelato, swedish castles and family. Life is holding on. I am in love. A world opens of imagination when I play with my nephew 1000 miles away from sanity and 2000 more away from the rest. As bubbles blow past our faces the sea of infinity opens with the hands of the little man related to me. 3 years old. It is amazing how God fixes us and prepares us, gives us rest and places us with so much love in his hands. We are worth so much to him. So now that I am here in Cefalu and in peace, i can see the end of my trip approaching like this upcoming wave about to hit the shore infront of me while I dine with the stars and rocks around me. Here I am and I take my time. Forgetting which song is playing I tip mine on these islands of wood above sharp stones. I am in love with someone I don’t even know and if God has me meet her I will consider myself blessed. If I never meet her then I will continue to dine by myself in the most beautiful places in the world and the empty place setting for this constant table for two will remind me that no matter if I am hungry or full, God always guides me home.   The stones I am above and the ancient city behind me, the couple in love next to me and the group in front of me, the beach the bronzed my skin and the yellow umbrellas reminding me of my mother, all has brought a message home to me. In the place where all the Sicilians go to vacation I am sitting alone. When will we have the willingness to let Sacrifice sit at our table and dine without us inviting Consequence too. London. then Detroit.