Wild eyes.

Wild eyes for Man Ray. I had read about his work in a photography periodical previous to my Tuesday art history lecture on Surrealist art photography of the 1920's, but the recount manifested an even deeper love and respect. I keep falling in love with dead photographers. Legends in my mind.

Old man Man Ray in his Paris studio. Shot by Lothar Wolleh in 1969.

Today while cycling home from school, I was it by a car for the first time in my life. I am not invincible on wheels, this I know. Hard lesson. I saw it coming as it was my haste that caused the impact. Damn! To think, I was sure there was time and space for my slim bike. Not so. It felt so weird to bounce off the passenger door like a ragdoll. Similar feeling of confusion and pain in that moment as I felt the first time I was checked in ringette by a huge teen with a braid called The Train. Alba held up and held me in tight to the traps which turned out to be a very good thing. Ass over tea kettle, not so. On the walk home, I cried in shock for my front wheel which will need a hell of a true. Then again, a wheel is a wheel. All is well. It was a strange experience, not one I would like to repeat anytime soon.

Not sure what to say. Erin is flying into Bangkok as I write, my mind is with her. Flooding presses on as it tends to and I am hoping she will be able to do what she set out to--safely. Eee boy. I love you Frin, wind in your sails tonight.