Saving Faces

Pride, honour and saving face are all rooted in the ego. Out of the three I have conserved a certain sense of honour. Whether it be through my work or certain aspects of my behaviour. Honour is simply a set of rules that you live by and as long as you chose those rules I can go with it.
However being proud of something because you are in some way connected to it is really just a form of narcissism and saving face when scandal comes your way is simply trying to cover up the truth. I chose to detach myself from that way of thinking many years ago as both make us blind to reality in different ways.

So why the title? I hear you think.

Well, at the beginning of the year I picked up a second camera for stills and safety shots when shooting video. I’ve been testing it out in various ways, one of which has been taking people’s portraits to test lighting, depth of field and put an online portfolio together. The portfolio is so I have something to send people who want a gun for hire for events but the portrait testing has sprouted wings and become a little something of it’s own. What was originally supposed to be a dozen portraits has now reached 25 faces and is growing. These faces are from different backgrounds, gender and age and are slowly building a mosaic representing the fibre of Hong Kong’s society. Each person simply comes as they are, takes a seat and I take 10 to 30 shots of them. Some stay for 30 mins, others stay for a couple of hours and once they are gone I save their faces for the record.

Fern

They want to be adored

For what they are not

Caught in an illusion

Distraught by their lack of perfection

A fear of reflection

Simmering in their psyche

So fragile, so distanced, distracted

From who they really are

Yet to understand

That art can capture

Their very essence

And hold that hand

And say

Stay.

The Hook

Show me your all
The flesh and the soul
Your fears
Your goals
The life from within
The taste of your sins

Make me believe that you care
That you are willing to share
Every thought
Every act
With love in your eyes
And compassion in your heart
Then we can start

A beautiful journey.

Conditioning

The tragic existence of me was playing on the hotel room TV screen. Each image reflecting a thought, each thought creating insomnia which in turn brought a certain disconnect from reality.

A reality that kicked back in when the TV signal cut and all that could be heard was the low vibrating hum of the air conditioning.

Knot (First Draft)

When your confidence
Feels broken
Almost as broken as your heart
You try to escape
Dig a hole
Embrace the shadows
Chain down
The urge
To purge
The past
The present
And all you ever cared about

Be fearless or cease to be

When you’re full of doubt
Feeling lost
Almost as lost
As your soul
You try to reshape
Find a goal
Beyond the gallows
Stringing up
High
The lows
Of a life
You never really cared about

Para Bellum

He was a warrior who fought silent wars within the realms of peace.

Dark nights with razor blades and slow poisons had created a disdain for humanity within him.

He felt like a demon as he prowled the populace with a smile, tracking the victims to be of some high profile demagogues.

His task was to keep certain hands clean, to be the tool of hidden agendas and the fate of the unwitting.

Fools who had crossed swords with the unspoken rules of engagement.

A Day Without The Killing Jar (First Draft)

She whispered I love you with lips that had sucked a thousand cocks. She was a middle aged harlot and had been around the block more than a few times but had somehow retained a certain sense of romance. So much of her had been broken by rough penetration and verbal put downs yet there was still a place in her heart that could help her say I love you and mean it.
As the years of her youth had gone by she had held on to those three words. Saving them for better times in a nicer part of life. A secret that she held tight along with the promise that the day they slipped from her lips she would have made it out of hell.
Hell, however, has it’s ways and as the flesh aged the words slipped out in a moment of desperation and reached the ears of a fallen angel with a taste for all that is broken.
Upon hearing the words he went limp and she felt the weight of his body and woe as he gurgled: “I am so, so, sorry!”
She felt his tears mingle with sweat and the fumes of alcohol. A hot and cold sensation running from her cheek to her ear as she lay there longing to be safe and forget everything she had ever experienced.