I you happen to look at my favorites and my contacts along with my groups, you can tell I like to look at nudity and sex...

 

I feel that I can do so if someone is willing to post it...

 

I live by myself and I don't have a girlfriend... I'm married but have been separated for over seven years now... I need some kinda kinkiness in my life...

 

so please don't judge me by what I look at...

 

the rest is regular stuff...

 

I am always deep in thought. I put things into perspective by using Poetry.

 

I'm an amateur photographer. I don't care about much, but if I take a photo, it moved me somehow.

If I marked you as a contact, you have interesting photos that have moved me, I want to thank you. If I favorite something you have, then you have really moved me and that inspires me and I appreciate your work.

 

If I have something you favorite, tell me why... what moved you?

 

I have photos that may not mean much but are snapshots of life somewhere you were not. At that given point, you were looking at something; can you recall what it was? Probably not and therefore they have been lost from your memory and claimed by time recycled into the next event....

 

I used to be a Mortician... At times, I was the only person at the grave that bid farewell to a deceased member of our society. These were individuals with a purpose in life with no living relatives or friends to say goodbye. All I can hope is that their friends and relatives await their arrival from this world.

 

In response to this, you can see from my photostream, that I frequent old forgotten cemeteries... Some may find this morbid, I do not. There is a lot of loneliness in them. They are forgotten graves upon which no visitor stands anymore and they no longer receive flowers from the hands of loved ones. A visit from a stranger such as myself can only honor them as person I’ve never met. A name upon a granite or marble slab legible or not contains a forgotten past. This can be compared to a book with its cover intact and the pages torn out. The title now known only to a person, who has ever heard of it, read it or wrote it. A book none the less and the story lost forever compared to the knowledge of the life of the deceased.

 

My Grandfather is buried in a nameless old cemetery in Texas... Upon his grave stands a monolith, a testament of his impact upon his son's lives... yet hardly anyone frequents the grave. This cemetery is kept by rare efforts of a few relatives. Flowers are rarely ever placed here anymore.

During the spring, thousands of wildflowers decorate the cemetery. The forgotten graves receive flowers of beauty by the power of the unseen hands of nature.

 

So whenever I can, I take photos in cemeteries and collect them as memories…

 

Nameless…

 

Nameless….

Forgotten graves upon which no visitor stands anymore

no longer receiving flowers from the hands of loved ones

Visits from strangers honor them as persons,

Names upon granite/marble slabs

Marred by time and weather barely legible

The title of a forgotten past is the name

Like a book’s cover intact

Pages long since torn and scattered about

A story known only to one who read it

A story known only to those who’ve heard of it

known only by the author

Their graves and markers are nothing more

Just a book and the story lost forever…

Ren Mocat