Video length 4:06

Should be first on search

Chris isaak – wicked game (official hd music video)

Those eyes @ 1:07 to 1:08.

It isn’t a physical longing,
It’s just my mind trying to trick me
in to believe that touch exists.

Real life is a series of moments,
that somehow are greater than the sum of their parts.

Greater, yes, but the pain of the afterward,
is always easier to remember,
than the moments worthy of videos.

I quit taking pictures about 8 years ago.
It was about the time that I turned away from relationships.

For me,
as I look back on it now,
the pictures were an attempt at capturing a piece of time.

I was under the misconception that,
that moment in time,
was somehow more important or more relevant,
than the next moment.

It was an illusion.

I often wonder what made me think,
that I could somehow trap a moment in time.

All that I ended up with was a 5×7 photograph,
that represented time wasted,
trying to capture the uncapturable.

I realized that by trying to capture that moment,
I had actually missed experiencing the very thing,
that I was trying to hold on to.

I have a few pictures of my daughter left,
but the girl in the picture isn’t my daughter.

The girl in the picture is just a two dimensional possibility,
that proved to be another illusion.

My daughter is a grown woman now.
Her kids are as old as the girl in my 5×7 photograph.

So many people,
So many moments.

My brown hair, and my beard have turned grey,
both, long and unkempt.

My eyesight has faded,
much like the memories that I tried to save.

I’m sure,
If I’m around long enough,
my memories will turn into fragments,
and eventually cease to be altogether.

And probably before I’m ready,
the day will come,
when I’ll cease to be.

My room will be cleared out,
my favorite books will be packed away,
with a few of my favorite things.

My daughter will cherish them,
until she too is gone.

Our precious memories will end up on a thrift store shelf,
waiting to become somebody else’s memories,
or discarded entirely.

Eventually, everyone that ever knew me will cease to be.

There will be a tilted piece of marble,
covered in leaves and dust,
surrounded by other failed attempts at being remembered,
I will rest beneath it.

Occasionally somebody’s daughter,
holding the hand of her own daughter,
will walk past,
not even wondering who I was,
as they look for a stone with the right words on it.

They will share memories,
that become more transparent,
with each passing year.

Time will pass,
trees will grow,
and trees will die.

The ocean surf will endlessly dance,
wearing down boulders and cliffs,
until they are nothing but a sandy beach.

Some sunny day a woman with her lover,
will splash and dance on that warm sand.

as she holds her lover,
for a brief second her eyes will glaze,
and she will totally and unequivocally
understand that ‘now’ is all that exists.