The Shape Of Reality

Draw the line and the light will follow, shape peace in violent acts of serenity. Resurgent recovery, exposed in raw truth, induce a little death, before the burial release the pigeons. I read the news, it spoke of blame, fault and denial, the obituary said nothing. Rooted in ignorance fear grew wicked, embraced in solitude it burst into an astounding fire. Possessed by a phenomenon of world growing within and without boundary, of a power beyond control. Bent by it weight we gather what we can, to erect a story of its passage, to honor its awakening as our own. Draw the line and the light will follow.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Reuben Wu

http://reubenwu.com/home

Entrance

 

Something passes through my contented gaze, for a brief moment it wears the suit of my soul. It dares to sit within this silence, releases the heavy armor. To feel the tether so connected to its source, far flung out into the depths of this wilderness. Not to bed with solitude, but to remain in communion, in accord with a pact not to be forgotten. 

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Maria Reshetnick

https://www.behance.net/gallery/37489809/simple-cat

To Be Claimed

Regional voice, take our praise, conscious of its centre. Time waves, shutters the current of lighted word, buried in bedlam. Deeply shaken, the wolf starves with warm blankets. The fire surveys the maps of men. Having begun to raise their heads, to look away, as the scythe rakes the warm blood, the beautiful plane, the subdued craft, bend the branch, ignore the root. The Elderflowers to wed the queen. Moon on water tracks the decent, a story of itself. Settling fragments, holy dusk, other worlds curve under deadwing. The flightless rage, cut from heavens cord, yet resonance whispers to be claimed by this place. Bound by ambition, funerals feasting on desire. Clarity is within the cloak of fog. To frame the words, they set the trap, forget its making. The hurling abyss, the footfall of dead wounds. To not remake the world in such a image, a reflection retained, this maddening gaze. To allow it to return, to takes its place as ours within this fold. To bow in reverence. Casting the circle to enshroud without boundary, know demarcations to signify an indifference. To attend with wanting ear, to hear stories rising from stone, to find true north.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by and some words found and rearranged from Dr.

Martin Shaw, Scatterings: Getting Claimed in the Age of Amnesia

http://drmartinshaw.com

Image by: Amanda Charchian

http://amandacharchian.com/portfolio/overview/overview

Failure To Communicate

This is not a place to spoil and rot, heaven has seeded such bounty, it grows out from within all things. Patient are the small gods, yet their wrath is a horrorshow, bloody pools of darkend memories still clutch the back of the cave. Respect reciprocates respect, compassion resuscitates wisdom. Blunted blades can slay no rough beast, we must face the animal with tooth and nail. Wrestle it down from its high perch, tame its fire, remove its cowering shell. Left stripped of all its defense, so it may become apart of its story, rather than be a part of its failure. A scattered fossil, or a living relic, let us not be a mistake in evolutions craft.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Morgan Herrin

http://www.morganherrin.com

In this House is our Home

Let us take pause and know, it is in through this world that which we grow.
In each pleasure and each pain, solemn moments in this chain.
All and each as worthy of the other, as great rivers may split, may divide, yet all will return to their essence, the divine.
Memories are but possibilities to discern the present, an indication of a course, of that which to follow.
With love and loss, we shall meet and depart, what remains is but a question.
How shall we carry ourselves through?                                                                                                      So let us then honor those that have walked us passed, in every deed in which we sow, so that they may live in through our actions and guide our hand.
In every hour lay these seeds, that we which sow, it is but in our choice if they would grow.
Heaven does not lie upon some distant notion, it is merely an indication of a course, a direction of that which to follow.

-Joshua Fleming

In Memory of Robert Eugene Turner and all those that have walked us passed

Correspondence Confirmed

II tracks converge, a crash victim, camouflaged in disobedient rebellion, holographic information remind us of the artifact, picked like flowers from the concrete, the mind is a library, so many stories, a terminus in conclusion, to abdicate or abide, as the root branches in both directions, it is to feed, it is to sing, as is death is trenched in light, the situations that emerge to usher us through, this evidence of you is this evidence of me, not in defeat but by release, to apprehend the eidos, a closed loop feeding back upon itself to perpetuate its own identity, beyond these scripts, in the heart of the cinema, projections of possibilities all conducive to a break in character, reimagining the story of self and other.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by: Philip K. Dick

Image by: Francesca Woodman

“[I am not] the captain of my soul; I am only its noisiest passenger.”

-Aldous Huxley

Image by: Marc Trautmann

https://www.behance.net/gallery/35905577/The-Approaching

Petri Dish

Cultured, society has gathered here today, to renounce its place and erect its own. Our growth has propagated, migrated towards an artificial medium. Feasting upon its own end. Electrical impulses re-route the impedance, images flood the imagination, it looks so beautiful from behind the glass. This technological faraday cage blocks her signal, virtual incantations disguise emotional degradations. Truth, a window best left closed, warmed by the connection, this interconnected hum, the day that know one ever spoke again.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Nina Geometrieva

https://www.behance.net/gallery/31547413/Tokyo-desu

 

Time

Time, through rifts and valleys, the elementals etch a portrait onto the walls, instilled with their memories, their stories. If we can only give them a moment of ours. To witness their discipline, their craft, their beauty, their fleeting impermanence as our own. Time.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Guilhem De Cooman

https://www.flickr.com/photos/paslematin/

Divorcing The Heavens From The Earth

We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.

-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

A great depth of ecology is exposed, unimaginable growths and declines, to bring us here. Signals, transcend and transpond, awaiting some response. Feedback loops have become twisted and frayed, misguided passengers. Placed here by the gods, yet raised by this Earth. Cultured minarets attached to this mosque of root and stone, crying out, howling for the father, as we forget her name. Reticulating religions shout up at heavens gate, with hopes and fear, trembling in wait. Pleading for an eternity, while walking on its very path. This holy gift, is not a fall from grace, but a chance to explore its symmetry and design, to dissolve these dividing lines. As body again meets mind, as self introduces other, to sense and orient a passage, a space in-between. To hold a conversation within its myth and memory, as ritualistic cycles reverberate, as patterns reemerge, to remember our place, to remember our Mother. To remember, as we have always been cradled by the Heavens.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Øystein Sture Aspelund

https://www.behance.net/gallery/40230003/HIBERNATION-II