John Kester

ruggedly creative, innovatively handsome

Legs + Me

Legs
Originally uploaded by just john.

I’m still in the process of preparing for tomorrow’s shoot. Last night, my mad creativity spilleth over into my shooting space. So, tonight, I have to reign the creative wood chippings in. In the process though, I’ll get to reveal some gel medium transfers I worked on last night.

This is the last photo I uploaded to my flickr account, but it’s not showing in my photostream. I have no idea why, the permissions look appropriate. Nonetheless, it’s the ultimate metaphor about my life in some ways. The “frame” was a discard from the job I’ve been at most of my adult life. It represents one distinct part of me: good or bad. The image is from a series I shot on Christmas Eve this past year. It’s perhaps the pinnacle of a certain part of my personal experience and starting a new chapter….whatever that means. Enjoy.

Filed under: art, prose, , ,

Happenstance Dreaming

I fell asleep when I got home from work today. I left the TV on loud because my ears are bothering me from my head cold. It played with both my dreams and the spaces inbetween. I half-woke up telling myself I should post a blog. Not just any blog, but one specific to the false sense of security “public places” bring. The example in my mind was involving internet dating. You hear alot, “Let’s meet in a public place, so I know you’re not going to kill me.” Sometimes it’s tongue-n-cheek, but sometimes that’s the actual reason. There are quadrillions of good reasons to meet someone from the internet in a public place… 1. to see if they’ve lied about their physical appearance (or taken a shot of boobs and head that doesn’t articulately represent them). 2. because if they happen to be complete bastards in a public place, that’s a pretty good litmus test. 3. it would atleast facilitate a harder kidnapping scenario.

The list goes on and on. But, my point really is this. We are all delusional in thinking that if we talk to someone…look into their eyes, whatever, that we get some guttural sense of them. This is NOT the case. Now usually, it’s benign. It turns out those gentle eyes were lying to you. They were naive. They didn’t know what they wanted. But, we all want the best, and sometimes we hope for the best. So, if the intent really is to screen out murderers, look elsewhere. I have no idea what the answer is. Background checks don’t help. 48% of murderers aren’t caught. And, if they’re ballsy enough to meet you online under false pretense, who’s to say they can’t get coffee and be sane? Not that this is an online-dating thing at all. I mean, you could face the same thing in a club, or at a ball game, or at soccer practice. We need to totally revisit what we idealize as ‘safe’ and ‘unsafe.’

So, I guess when it comes down to it. I’m writing this because I’m miffed at how people can be one thing for awhile and then completely change. I mean completely. It’s the recurring nightmare of my life. Sometimes it’s over the course of 36 hours, sometimes it’s closer to 2304 hours. There are no rules, no real warning signs, just abrupt “I’m-not-that-person-anymore-ness”

Be careful out there.

Filed under: prose

Moderate.

I’m IMing. I haven’t really done it in awhile. When I was in my teens, it was like texting to teens these days. I was addicted, and I was really good at it. I was able to get my point across, be funny, and maybe even enjoy myself. These days it’s much more utilitarian. Much like any writing I do. I have to be prodded into it, and even then it’s only a shadow of my former voice. Regardless of that. I’m IMing. It’s hard for me to talk. Getting over a cold, now compounded with another one. I ordered pizza from the place that lets me order online just so I wouldn’t have to talk. And how did the IM end? “I believe in some traditional gender roles.” What does that even mean? Subtextually I’m not sure. On the bright side, it’s 9PM, and I’m awake. Unusual.

Filed under: prose, random

Portia says “Welcome abundance.” Wallace finally listens.

In what may be the most interesting news of September, Wallace finds himself motivated, irrational, level-headed, and myriad conflicting, non-conflicting adjectives. He’s somewhat smug and pleased. Things lacking from his usual repertoire. 3.4 hours of troubleshooting a CSS padding issue dealing with the newer release of Firefox, and the “a-ha” 1.4 second moment of discovery pleased him to no end. One part for others, one part for himself. Small things like this have been building up, and exploding in azure-sky non-fireworks.

Every time Wallace blinks it seems as though he falls into a dream. The blinks are no longer than usual, but the majesty and wonder of the moments is elongated into a symphony of hope. Perhaps soon he won’t have to sleep.

Filed under: design, pomp, prose

Question Today

Where do I want to be in 5 years? Geodesic incompleteness might lead an uninitiated individual to ponder the intrinsic validity of this question. Speculation aside, one might question if a true answer would offset any already-dictated and directed path. However, when we stir in modern philosophical theorems and generally excepted notions that space-time is an arrow, pointing in whatever direction our psyche produces it, we are able to more soundly justify the existence of the question and our abilities to answer it. Whether or not a true and just answer to the question offsets and detriments the possibilities of its forthcoming can only be ascertained in practice, not conjecture.

Nonetheless, I’m willing to push forward and risk any personal quantum consequences attempting to answer this query with forthrightness and insight might catalyze. So, again I start. Where do I want to be in five years?  I’m prepared to outline my projection in two discrete aspects. The first being the absolute evolution of my personal id and the point at which it can be defined in this earthly time period. The second, slightly more tangible reactant, is the impact I foresee imposing on others during and up until this timeframe negates itself.

Firstly, in regards to the state of my id. I see it in good standing. Perhaps more physically dissolved and diluted by everyday simulacrum, but nonetheless strong and less-awkward. Overall, I assume and anticipate fully, more action coupled with more questions. Questioning being key to any evolution, assuming it is to continue beyond the window given.. Otherwise, I’d hope to see a dramatic drop in angst and metaphor. Any psychic malnutrition will be met with the protein of reason.

On the second front, we look at my outward impacts-where they will lead and resolve to. I expect and will make adjustments to ensure that I have followers. Not just fans, but in fact, mobilized groups of individuals who believe in what I say and emulate my actions. The impact, of course, will be more far-reaching than direct connection. I expect to dissolve any transparent guides pushing apart logic from action. I also hope to have coined the term laction to refer to this natural evolution. A new divide will form naturally between the “lactive” and the “inlactive.” Those pursuing laction and the illactionites that only further their own domains. This kind of friendly imbalance will lead to a natural balance and pasteurization of overwhelming principles.

In conclusion. Five years, not such a long time from now. Art from me? yes please.

easter

Filed under: art, prose, random

father’s day

swimming in gene pools

bacteria in your eyes
bubbling to the top
the power to leave
when things are going alright-
so empowering.
wretched little kids
spinning and spurring me on
glad to be v-safe
did you hear the news?
yes, the vagrants are coming.
not literally.

Art by Wallace, words by Portia

Art by Wallace, words by Portia

Filed under: art, haiku, Imagination, prose, random

Scooters, Vacation, Fall

Wallace found himself sleeping 18-24 hours a day. He reduced his dose. He read a blog about an online fanatic that went to the “psych ward.” He realized what a double entendre conjuring “stones” had become. He stopped drinking water. He started drifting off less often. He was more awake, but it didn’t matter. One message he expected never came. Instead, he was dark and sooty, in a white shirt no less. He wished he could grow kumquats, and balls. He was ephemeral and contrived. Listless. Quick, but not clever. His recent love affairs were with sharpies and estrogen-genetics. Consumed with cartoons. Cautious with fate.

Filed under: prose, Uncategorized

Contact Me

If you'd like to connect and see new work, visit my Facebook page

If you stopped by to check out my work, (thanks!) go to http://johnkester.me. I love to hear new opinions, thoughts and comments, so have at it!


If you'd like to commission a piece, schedule a shoot, or engage in random ranting, email me at john.m.kester [at] gmail.com

Flickr Stream

feathered, not tarred

LES

Animated Closet - Nov

Hoth.

5

More Photos
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.