Street Photography; Vancity Storm.

photo by @the_werst_

Shut em down open up shop!: Under the bridge… – via #ManageTheDamage

from Instagram:

Source: Under the bridge – #ManageTheDamage – #aerosol, #atmosphere,#bridge,#day,#daylight,#germany,#graffiti, #homeless,#photo,#photography,#society,#spraypaint,#urban,#urbanism,#vandalism,#walls

City Symphony – Nina

For eternity; I walk these city blocks like Enoch

God with me or not.

Its Poetry.

Infinite street tops and Calligraphy stained walls

Read the bombs like psalms; calmly carress

Finesse with pens; aggressively pressed

Against the concrete; my nikes

Sun up till sun down

I’ll have come up before I come down

Running around grounded;

With my head in the clouds

Night flights exite my kites

Urban junglist; with psychlobin fungus

Or tetra hyrdo -eyes-low-

And I know theres…

A million stories in the naked city

I take em with me

City misery and the polar opposite symphonies…

Nina

India — Street Photography

… via India — Ankov Travels

via India — Ankov Travels — wolf4915

The Naked City

Keep it thoro – Self Portrait

Survival. – Nina

How lucky can I be.

I’ve survived all I’ve seen.

How many of these streets.

Nights and memories.

I’ve been paralyzed by thought.

Traps that I was caught.

Bleeding in the streets.

Many lessons I was taught.

I escaped unscathed.

My mind bathes in yesterdays.

All the different ways,

That I chose that I would play.

Cityscape playgrounds, money and indulgence.

Self destructive lust, my control was that of nothing.

How many others… survived the jungle traps.

I hope that you’ve all survived.

The things we grew attached.

Zen Samurai -Poetry of war. By Nina Yin

Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily, once ones body and mind are at peace; they should imagine being ripped apart by arrows, swords, and spears.

Being thrown off thousand foot cliffs, dying of disease, or commuting seppuku at the deaths of one’s master.

One should consider themselves as dead..

-Hagakure

Why should I be afraid to face anything, death….

Here and now I stand strong as myrtle trees. In depth in the substance of the way.

Although tyrant treachery stands to my face clutching weapons; I have nothing to hide nor fear… with weapons of my own.

Do not attest to who and what I am before I eclipse your mind into the nothingness in which we came from.

You cannot acclimate to this level of which you I fear not; devil in the midst, you make me laugh as I draw my sword.

Like an olden tax collector in Roman times you harass the poor and underprivileged. You disgrace the city we worked so hard to rise.

I didn’t know it was tax collection day….

I cut you down at dawn and watch the sunrise twinkle in your pool of blood, wiping my blade on your Babylonian uniform.

Bowing unto your rotting flesh.

-Nina