Sontag

Sontag writes, "Harrowing photographs do not inevitably lose their power shock. But they are not much help if the task is to understand. Narratives can make us understand. Photographs do something else: they haunt us.
When we really evaluate the facile understanding we arrive at from ,just, looking at war photography, is it really an understanding? Do you honestly feel that from looking at a photo that have an understanding of the action taking place, is a photograph is meant to enlighten you about a matter or merely "haunt" and "shock" you? Explain.

My Sweet Departure from Her to Her

As I return to ash, a legacy so shall I leave behind
As I return to ash, so shall the secrets of my mind
I shall lock away my soul
Leave a story untold
As I return to ash, a rose shall unfold
My breath shall fragrant the air
My heart will be released from despair
As I return to ash, I shall realize I was never there
That I dwelled in the bouls, crying in the belly of the beast
That it was never the intent, for me to see the sun rise in the east
As I return to ash, my wings of sorrow shall hold my spirit down
So shall I existed in the bowls of this beast, so shall I be found
Limply sloshing around in the water, as the beast sluggishly ravishes waters of its own
As I return to ash, I shall wish to stay, I shall want to be gone
How long can I endure an existence, lying exhaustedly on this rock
How long will faith spit on me, and allow restless slumber in, so that I may be mocked
As I return to ash, I shall utter one word
My lips spoke softly, I smiled, my tears manifested into hummingbirds
The blue forms fluttered away, leaving behind the sparkles that comprised her brilliant eyes
Then tore a rift in my heart, as spacious as her smile was wide
As I return to ash, from this hole, thick black blood bled
My spirit shall rise, no longer as heavy as head
How I long for your arms embrace
How sweet was the moment, when your fingers caressed my face
How glorious will be the moment, when our souls occupy the same space
As I return to ash, my eyes shall I close
My soul shall rise from my lungs from my mouth, and to be held by the one I chose
As I return



Copyright © 2005 Domonique Murdock

Exclamation

He watched the feather as the wind smiled and swirled it about its fingers
He had forgotten how he had become an intrinsic part of fast paced life, and in this moment he wanted to linger
He smirked, then smiled, and slowly sunk back into reality
Then he realized that casting this beautiful bronze princess as a feather was a humble gesture, but it was an abnormality
She flowed more majestically, with a form more captivating
The soothing spell her movement placed on me made her beauty more scintillating
With skin kissed by candle light, and sensual inviting eyes
Parts of me could only hope to travel the path of the bead of sweat as it seductively voyaged from her nose, across her lips, down her chest, and to the inner core of her thighs
She flowed across the stage once more, and made contact with my heart
This was one exclamation dancer to which my soul did not wish to part



Copyright © 2005 Domonique Murdock

Distinguishing Her

Her smile is what invited me in
Her charisma is what coaxed me to stay
It wasn’t the beauty of her skin
Nor was her long beautiful hair, which calmed me as it would sway
She had more substance than others
She didn’t know it, but she knew how to make me smile
With a face that resembled the innocence of the goddess Venus’s child
I had never been attracted to someone so unlike myself
Do I even fall into her perception of handsome, were mutual feelings felt
If ever two different life forms experienced each other, that classroom was the place
Or were our differences only physical
I hoped that was the case
As of now I just ponder
Upon a beauty that stems from her soul
The only question I wonder
Is if two our two entities could possibly make a whole



Copyright © 2005 Domonique Murdock

The Awakening

When the heart can't wonder and the soul can't breath
The anger sets back in, it becomes harder to be me
Frustration and pain, incoherence and perdition
Honor, passion, joy, and euphoria, all lost to malice's current condition
The sage is sleep
I patiently await the awakening
The pain is deep
I know the perseverance is breaking
Consumption is apparent
To perceive is to suffer
The stress is exorbitant
At the insensitive hands of a lover



Copyright © 2005 Domonique Murdock

This is myself in a light that i feel is relavent to my postings

ALEXANDER 

C'est la vie où nous avons choisie, la vie nous menons

Prometheus_Bound 

The Road Back Home

WORKS BY WARREN CRISWELL IN THE COLLECTION OF
Bruce & Arlene Bueno de Mesquita
New York, NY and Stanford, CA
Dark Road with Tree, 1998, oil on wood

He glared at the figure before him slouching over forward, supporting himself on the sink below. His head was lowered, but slowly began to rise. With trembling lips, and shifting eyes, it exhaled and the swelling of its eye's became apparent. The exhaustion it had capitulated to towered above it. Weakly, it spoke, " Try as you might escape your fate, you'll never pass through the golden gates.", then sighed in more exhaustion. "For it is pain I know, and have come to except, we shall part only when I com to the doors of death. It is pain I except, but it is all that I know. It has become my motivant, the nuturant variable that catalysis my growth. If faith and fate shall machinate my demise, then it seems that perditions road shall only arise." The coherent suffering that it had endured was almost to much to bear. As inabberant as it considered its relationship with pain, it was rational, so it knew joy was there. Despair was abysmal, and that solemn hold that had been placed on its heart had become a vice grip, a source of malicious and nefarious thoughts. It was its only foe, or one in which he mainly fought. He looked back into the mirror," Why have you forsaken me."; then, with erect masculine profoundness stood up. "After my battle with you, my soul will be free."