No Man's Land
REG 02 - 19 - 2010

I'm heartbroken. I lost my journal. Thinking it got shuffled into the sheets while I was hunkered down on the train awaiting reprieve from the machine-gun fire rattle of the coach on our way out of Cairo. Earlier that day I was going to take back-up photos of my work but the camera batteries were dead. So with the journal, about 30 sketches were sucked into an abyss of starched cotton, likely to daylight in the presence of the attendant when he lowered the bunk to change the sheets, only to be tossed into a trash basin for lack of something to do with it. Worthless to him, a treasure trove of memories for me. The importance of the journal has become resoundingly clear. I am on continuous download on this trip - my brain unable to filter most of the in-coming information. The journal becomes a tome of experience, housing the details that so easily get flushed from the daily cache memory on which my brain operates. The journal commits the constant stream of data to a disk. The paper - the disk. The pen - a tool for taking a piece of the world and making it uniquely me. Me - a vessel of life shaped by the culmination of my experiences. In all, a pretty damn good reason to keep my batteries charged. Top: Almost getting run over by a guy on a camel at the Giza pyramids. Bottom: Foluka fun.

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