Joined

Hi, I have been collecting long enough to not know when I started. My first buy was of the heart. It was the Zero 0.3, if I could have worn them and not felt silly I would have bought them right there on the spot. But since I was looking for something for everyday wear, my first purchase was a 2nd Gen M Frame Cobalt/1st Gen Blue Iridium Heater. I love them so much I bought another one in Carbon with the same Blue Iridium colorway in a strike. I ended up with 2 more heaters and 1 more strike lens in blue iridium, along with 3 more M Frames to match the number of lenses. Say goodbye to Rayban's and say hello to an addict.

Archer is the name I gave myself, before my parents knew me enough to not name me George. Archer is a metaphor of what I am and what I want to be. I can reach the target, but I am still learning the wisdoms of being complete in the journey. And though I love the vision of the archer, I haven't time for the complication that would follow in the commitiment a formal name change would require. Call me George or Archer it doesn't matter it is all a state of my mind anyway. A place to focus, when my given name has no meaning.

I don't see life in numbers and calculations. I see life in shapes and colors. I don't have photographic memory, I have photographic interests. Anything I am interested in, I instinctively know everything about it or know how to move in the direction of the answer. It is not something I carry within me, it is something recalled when it finds a need. You might say I live life in a spiritual Braille. A place where everything has a touch, much like the heat from a fire or the vibration of a guitar string. A place where the wind talks to you and the trees acknowledges its presense. This leaves me in a wanting state of mind. I want to do and feel it all to the point I cannot move against the weight of the choices. Oakley is a part of that paralysis. It's like a walk through the Wonka factory, full of color and wonderful shapes that light up the senses all at once, like some abstract fire work display, on some no good reason holiday. I know this sounds like some bald headed person in a diaper, sucking his thumb from the bottom of a crib. A play pen I have never left, but time had chosen to forget. A time you don't remember without the help of parents and grandparents. A time when you were cute, cuddly and undefined. When life was only senses and touches.

Like so many of my other addictions, they leave me in a perplexed state of need. Someday I will crack this code I created and the mask I wear that justifies the need. Until then, I stand and stare at my collection, and in the distance of a forgotten corner of my mind, a childs voice can be heard....oooooh...preettty!