talking to strangers

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While shooting portraits in the shade of the gazebo at the depot in Newton, we met this really nice couple. She had childhood roots in the area and they were visiting, seeing what had changed since her childhood visits. As good southerners are prone to do, we talked for an hour. They were a sweet couple, married 21 years, very happy. :-)

I don't know why my mama told me not to talk to strangers. You hear the best stories that way.

Talking

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Ilaria and Carlo talking on a bench

.Let's Talk.

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are you lost or incomplete?
do you feel like a puzzle
you can't find your missing piece?
tell me how do you feel?
well, I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak...
and they're talking it to me...♫♪♫♪

talk to me

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There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one will bother me
I think I should speak now ______________________ Why won't you talk to me
I can't seem to speak now ________________________You never talk to me
My words won't come out right ___________________ What are you thinking
I feel like I'm drowning ____________________________ What are you feeling
I'm feeling weak now ____________________________Why won't you talk to me
But I can't show my weakness _____________________ You never talk to me
I sometimes wonder ___________________________ What are you thinking
Where do we go from here _________________________ What are you feeling

Pink Floyd, Keep Talking

It was only the crack (not artificial) when I took this photo and right now, after two years i took it, it gave me its message...

hand on the shoulder..

note: this is a cleared version, i removed the old one..

Aphasia

Apashia
brought unto a ceaseless wrath of confusion.
Lost? The word brings no justice!
The fusion of all the emotions sent forth
can bring you to your knees.
So lift up from this cold ground,
find the light, climb these dark halls,
this maze clouded by fear.
Please phase through this!

Dapper Ed

ON THE BILL: Louis Smith performance will be part of his therapy

Sunday, May 27, 2007

BY ROGER LELIEVRE

News Arts Writer

Fans and friends of Ann Arbor trumpeter and educator Louis Smith, who had a stroke a year and a half ago, will be delighted to know that his therapy at the University of Michigan Residential Aphasia Program has progressed to such an extent he will be able to perform at an event marking the 60th anniversary of the aphasia program Saturday at the Michigan Theater.

"This is part of his speech therapy,'' said Smith's wife, Lulu. "As music is on the right side and communication is on the left side of the brain, this is a way to get him to start to communicate and talk. Louis' left brain was affected by the stroke.''

The songs he will sing are "On the Sunny Side of the Street,'' "It Don't Mean a Thing if it Ain't Got That Swing'' and "Georgia.'' "The remarkable thing is he can sing these words but not speak them,'' Lulu Smith added.
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ON THE LOT

Anybody who’s had dealings with small children knows the importance of “the pitch” — the succinct, attractive, punchy, mentally digestible presentation of a new idea. Faced with a frowning toddler, you have about six seconds to make the sale, and it has to be as sweet and as tight as a radio jingle. You will be pitilessly scanned for irregular body language, unevenness of tone, and pupil dilation. The air is electric with feral mistrust. If you start sweating, if they smell your fear — it’s over. Such was the predicament of the 50 apprentice filmmakers gathered in the premiere episode of Steven Spielberg & Mark Burnett’s ON THE LOT (Fox, Tuesday at 9 pm), since their first challenge was to pitch a movie idea to the Hollywood triumvirate of Garry Marshall, Carrie Fisher, and Brett Ratner. The hopefuls were touchingly hopeless: they dried up into gaping silence, or ranted like prophets, in visionary isolation. Jeremy Corray, expounding upon a torture scene that formed the centerpiece of a film he planned to call Synergilistic, took off his belt and thrashed the floor. “Mickey Castellucci is a run-of-the-mill New York mobster,” began another contestant, more promisingly, “but for the last 10 years, he’s been informing for the FBI. One day he wakes up and he’s turned into a six-foot-two-inch 300-pound mouse.” Quality stuff so far, but here — eclipsed, perhaps, by the brilliance of his own conceit — the pitcher appeared to enter some sort of fugue state or light aphasia. Suddenly, no more words: some helpless movements of the hands, and a bit of rocking back and forth. The judges looked at one another. “Then . . . ?” prompted Garry Marshall, to no effect.