It must come from my head, or so it’s been said, but I feel old and used up and sold, and so it’s been read that we’re never ahead. But coming from my head, I know where I have been, and through the lens of my wandering eye, I snapped images from the still air and preserved them in gold. And in my plight for insight, I must remember when I gave up my security for experience to win and sacrificed my space for others to spin. I chanced the odds at will and jumped from my senses into unknown and oblivious atmospheric pressure that consumed me until I grew accustomed to my fall, and spread my limbs to slow down my inevitable descent. So it is here that I rediscover discipline and the need to capture every frame in every picture put forth. But I had lost sight “in the thick of it all” and stumbled along as if my time had already come. So it comes from my head and I am no longer mislead as a certain groove evokes me to sing and throw away what I never will need.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist