The End Is Nigh






1989. 1999. 2001. 2006.


Folklore is a reflection. A reflection of a people, of a society, of a movement, of a desire, of a cause, of a fight.


It is a voice.

A visual communication of the human race.

From our anger, our pain, our love.

It is our legacy.

A cautionary warning to the future generations.

Our cradle to cradles, as we cradle to grave.


I often wonder. What will I leave behind? What is my story? What is my societies story? The older I get, the more I want to weave these pictures, these words.


The more I want to stamp and shout and stall the time that whizzes by.

Time ticks by, and I remember the moments.


I remember. 1985. My first kiss. 1989. The wall coming down reuniting my family. 2001. Screaming at the radio. 2003. Graduating valedictorian. 2004. My aunt dying in my arms.


These are the moments that create the tales of my person.


So I began to weave.

My voice.

I began to weave my own folklore, of my own society.

Of the war on woman.

Of the destruction of the environment.

Of the need to find the calm from the inundation of the media.

Of the in-house fighting of our politics that is dividing a country.

Of the blind following of the masses, and the bullying of the individual.

Of the lack of discourse over depression and mental illness.


There are so many stories to tell of so many of our flaws.

Our flawed society. Our flawed insight. Our flawed nature.

The saving grace is the persistence of folklore. This is its torch song.

So I pass the torch.