I won't talk about Hariri, nor Blair, nor Bush and his Condomleeza, nor UN investigators. Because I'm happy. In a strange sadistic self-satisfied way. Because Syria has landed on it's feet, like a true Unadulterated Cat that would make Terry Pratchett proud.
As a celebration, I chose to repost an older post revised. I am a photographer, as written in my profile. I specialized on urban and motion photography because I feel it closest to my true self, a 100% urban human being that spent more than half of his life in motion, on the streets. True, that I don't need a camera to memorize all the details I felt trough my street-days, and true that it is the mind that captures and keeps all the moments, and that a camera, which is a device, after all, will create an array of lights and reflections that put together create the image. But what happens when an image tells you more than it's meant to tell, projects you in it's hidden universe and confides you it's forgotten tales?The images I post are built on contrasts, as our life and world. They are symbolic, they hold an existential philosophy, because people saw existential philosophy within, and because people crave for existential philosophy.
As for me, I just pressed the shutter release.
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