The Missing Infrared Filter

Video first seen on The Photo Nomad inspired this write – check out his amazing photography, Video shot and cut by Philip Bloom – music Beethoven’s 2nd -7th movement.

Gorged the blue-grey steel cigar belly glides
ever so slowly, rubbing against harsh,
smoky sky;
a voluminous roar and metallic
temples are oblivious to the removal
of barriers
slowing to 33 and a third –
in harmony,
as if Beethoven’s 7th (2nd movement)
permeating our fibres
was a summons to a world temporarily
captured by an invisible lens – within it
an easy going dreamscape lie is being
created.
Muted walks on pavements, carpeted
with tufts of individualism, create
one of surrealism’s manifestations – filling
the landscape with a strangeness,
the mystery of someone’s characteristic
dream.
Moving sedately – re configured
and with newly defined algorithms, we
perform
…………like a
…………..solemn
…………….metronome
………………finger
………………..adrift
………………….on the timbre
……………………of a
……………………..masterpiece’s voice,
……………………….our tempo
………………………… is dictated
……………………………to by
……………………………..its orchestral
……………………………… manoeuvres
………………………………… dispersed
……………………………………in
……………………………………..waves.
Our collective gait is held in an unrushed,
undemanding control of invisible music
and in a lens’ long lashing,
hard kohl eye. We are observed.
The relaxed protracted gaze that emanates
from our eyes is inset with ambivalence
and ‘do not enter our space dilation’ –
sending messages secreted inside light
waves in elongated beams that penetrate
each others’ psyche – always projecting,
not often do we beckon.
Stark flashes of sunlight interject –
punctuating twists and turns of each torso’s
stingy gesture –
slurred smiles, relaxed and comfortable,
leisurely measured – deliberately sedate
at least for a while.
We are encapsulated – suddenly walled
off from non conformity – buoyant in a sea
of waves, we are held captive for now
in a state –
oblivious, and missing something,
below par.
We morph easily into our new flesh tones,
blending in with the new surrounds and
settings of achromatic life; backdrops
and objects newly dressed are tinged
with shy blues and screaming whites, timid
heather reluctantly showcasing our modern
Homo sapiens,
homespun talents. Invisible thoughts
become suddenly opaque, colour cast.
Intangible echoes drift idly before
becoming swept up to be clouds
by the rise and fall in the chest of the air
that envelops us.
Cigarette ash sky starkly juxtaposes
lambency and life,
becoming authoritarian, oppressive –
frightening, but darkly exciting.
Fake blue snow laden balmy trees sway
inside the music – partner in this hypnotic
suspension of real time and pace.
We recognise ourselves reflected inside
each other’s screaming black eyes;
eyes bathed with our non-permanent
milieu, and which for the moment,
eases the stinging of a normal day:
fast paced, Kodak coloured days
and the kaleidoscopic neon
that normally saturates our existence.
On these slower days – days like today,
waves bombard us, toying with us
and we feel it –
we turn, we look – possibly right down
into the lens without realising it –
but we move on, carrying with us hard grey
baggage and our indifference,
or are we just trying to fight against the
unrelenting relaxed weight of time ushering
us on this current?
We are comforted by the latent rhapsodic
melody’s vibrations playing our eardrums.
We become curiously enhanced –
like a procession of aliens from science
fiction’s nether zones –
but also like rows of schoolteacher’s chalky
blue grey white pastels in powdery guise.
Held here, our existence is a parallel
to our real lives,
non conformity is underpinned by
lazy, blue-white skinned
uniformed apparel and Disney’s
monochrome blushes on railings, walkways
and street corners – littering the environment.
Acuity isn’t distorted, and eerily,
our lazy movements in both sound and vision
underscore our scorched dry landscapes –
pseudo colours replace the havoc of missing
water in the hills’ normally dirty dishwater
brown earth, still dry without regular
infusions of water’s shy molecules to feed
the soil.
Rarely do we catch enough of it.
Its immediate intention is to search for a hiding
place in exchange for the same effects
that play with us today; the lurid dreamlike
appearance of carved dried wood mimicking
our own shortfalls and transparencies –
no matter how clever the equipment.
Do you wonder who we really are
when you look through your lens?
We wonder that too sometimes.
Does this make me something special,
or a posturing alien, wraith like and ethereal –
or just another object to be photographed
using whatever it takes to eradicate/enhance
who we are slowly becoming?
What is missing from this picture?
Or, are you simply missing an infra red filter?
Should we be missing an infra red filter?