I've taken a lot of pictures and it was weird to realize how every parity of its being could sink right through my thinking. Looking into it, even it appeared heedless to others, threw me to that very point, how I held the camera, what I was thinking, feeling, and all sorts of things that makes such too appealing to me as if I walked pass by such time again without turning the time back.
Perhaps it was the main purpose of photographs, to throw us back to that comfort of unchanging past in an continous turning clock. A proof of man ever changing, exploring, exploiting, and withering heights of purpose that would come, soon, to dust where it all belonged to.
The sentimental purpose of man was driven by the memories we consciously remembered, how such entity was once so perfect and at the same time how such was lacking of a definitive piece we could not be certain of, which only time could tell.
It was blur.
It was deep.
It was such unnecessary,
Which we dreamed to be necessary.
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| Going to a Business meeting and my head is swimming in nervousness |
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| Another repetitive constructed programming of meaningful life in the office |
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| Finding her chatting whilst asleep |
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| A meaningful ride means a meaningful destination |
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| I couldn't hardly recognize a mind the way I recognized the thinking |
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| This orb of lights was actually the street lights at CIP2 when I'm on my way home from an overtime work |
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| It was unusual to find a man alone in moments where men crowded themselves among themselves. |
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| Morning glance by the porch |
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| A reflection through the mirror from my office Table |
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