A local Nashvillian, Eric Dulberg, is a portrait photographer with a bright soul and fun spirit.  He has a gift for capturing essence, showing his subject’s story.

Eric is a traveler, having been to the Philippines, Ecuador and planning to travel to Ireland in the coming year- searching for a story never heard before.

As part of a project towards his degree, he printed a book, Nashville Natives, capturing many of the stories of  unknown Nashvillians. The book is filled with captivating portraits, connecting audience to a common thread of humanity. The portraits are accompanied by a story supplied by the subject. The book opens with a character, named Chance.

Chance is a heavily tattooed older gentleman without home, having faced the harshness or war and confinement. He came to Nashville from the west coast and served in the Vietnam War. His life hasn’t been an easy one, but life has awarded him the wisdom that, “…it doesn’t matter who you are or where you live or how much money you have. What is important in life is to look after each other.”

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Another character, Raymond, with kind eyes and warm smile, told Eric of his time in Vietnam and memories of Shania Twain, especially of her humility and gentleness.

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Every person has a story. To share your story is sharing a little peice of your soul. Sharing a smile ties our journey to the whole of humanity.

The book is available for purchase at www.ericdulberg.com and benefits Shower Up, a local non-profit providing showers for the homeless.

 

 

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People come and go; relationships, lovers, and friends. Not all destined to stay forever; some only for a season.

Is it harder to fight the good fight or suffer an abrupt ending?

Connections are rarely instant. Relationships are built over time, brick by brick. Years of experiences, secrets, and laughter. A foundation is built. Then Suddenly, something happens.

You don’t talk as often. You stop thinking of that person as often. Your exchanges center around “catching up.” Your dates get forever rescheduled. The common thread that ties feels broken.

Discussions for closure. Forgiveness granted. Love is no longer alive.

With every passing day, the pain subsides. That love that felt so strong fades a little more with the lick of the light.

The instant connection. A fated meeting, a spark inside. Life stories shared and passion to ignite. This thing feels so real and live. How could it have been known that this would be the last time?

The ghost that haunted, now missing in the night. No cataclysm. No explanation proffered. No reasons as to why. Just gone- leaving only sadness inside.

A slow ending allows for grief. It allows for explanation. It allows for analysis of why.

An abrupt ending leaves questions. A story not finished. Nothing to work through.  Nothing to analyze.

Escaping robs of the proper goodbye. A pain to sit with. No option left, but to accept. A hollow hope the love will slowly wither, to eventually die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Spotted outside of Mcminnville, Tennessee, in the town of Woodberry.

What is this modern marvel? This invention of great ingenuity? Only spoken of with hushed secrecy. Inside the convenient store in which it sat, I asked the attendant humbly, “what could this be?” I hear some call it wall decor. Others call it a peice of a memory.  It must be from another century.

A miracle before my very eyes. People must know of this thing. This thing that makes a call for 25 cents a minute? It could change everything. It could change how we communicate, lighten our pockets and fill up our wallets. No more unanswered text messages. No more status cling and freedom from noisy pings.

What a glorious day to think of replacing those overly complicated cell phones. What a day to be less burdened with technology.

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I prepare my cooler, stacked with cheap beer, and some stale ice from my barely used freezer.

I press the app button and boom, lyft will be here in 3 minuets. I quickly zip the cooler all the way but it leaves a small preview of the cheap beer I am ashamed of. After all, Nashville beer snob rates are at an all time high.

You arrive. I see you and attempt to wave to acknowledge your arrival but nope, you still seek a two level authentication and call me, then say my name through your rolled up window. I appreciate the added levels of security just in case some other bitch with my name might be lurking around looking to steal my ride.

I enter through the back door. You seem disappointed but, let’s keep it profesh. You see a pothole on my street and ignore my warning, thinking it’s not a “bad one.” You immediately realize your Versa is not a Land Rover, but alas you’ve committed to it. You look back after bottoming out and say- “what the hell was that?”after the Versa lightly scrapes the ground as my clutch contents spill onto the floor.

Along the ride, you feel small talk is necessary after we both accidentally lock gaze in your rear view mirror.

I oblige and we discuss the crazy Nashville traffic and how many people are moving here every day. Somehow this leads us into a discussion about the infrastructure/local corruption, speculation, and ultimately, foreign policy.

We are approaching my destination. I advise you to turn right, but you follow the phone map that is taking you “a different way.” We both know this was a dick move and now we’re suffering as a result of your poor decisions. You figure out by mile 2 out of the way that it probably won’t “circle around” as we enter the interstate we just exited. I politely reassure you that your conclusion is correct. Really, I’m thinking “just more proof dudes never listen to a word we say, but we’re almost always right.”

We arrive, you pull into the creepy neighbors driveway, no wait…. now you’ve decided to back out of the driveway and then back in? You tell me that’s easier for you as I look up and see the long muddy trek to my friends house. You tell me you need to get going so you can get some of the downtown pickups. I feel used.

Suddenly I realize the five miles we just spent together meant nothing to you. I recognize it’s time to move on and exit the vehicle with my bag o’ beer. It falls out through the broken zipper. I pick up the broken merchandise, turn around and press that glorious pink button. More cheap beer awaits me at the sketchy gas station down the street….

Shout out to the real hero’s of my Saturday nights- my lyft drivers

Dearest Burrito,
To you, my love, my massive burrito. I stood in line at the local Chipotle anticipating your barbacoa goodness and gaucomole filling. I handcrafted you with the help of a skilled technician who carefully ladeled you with cilantro-lime rice and fresh pico. I watched him shape you into a perfect round bundle. He struggled fiercely, fighting against your shell, struggling to contain all of your sensual goodness and voluptuous curves.  I was so overwhelmed and nervous, I grabbed a beer. I knew Id need to loosen up for what I was about to do to you. I found a table in the corner far from the purview of onlookers. This was a private affair. I sat alone in the restaurant for a moment, intimidated, staring at your bounty, wondering how I might peirce your overstretched tortilla shell. Finally, I grasped you with two hands. A single hand could not support you. I made my move. With one bite I was enraptured. I took to you like a wild carnivore. Devouring bite after bite of your deliciousness. With a total absence of shame and hesitation, I devoured you whole, totally oblivous to the sour cream and guacamole smeered on my face. Finally, sweaty and exhausted, I  relinquished to you. My body could take no more. I dropped the remnants of your shell on your pretty red plastic basket. I wiped my chin and threw down my napkin in defeat. How I love your black beans, spicy salsa and your shredded cheese of delight. Oh my satiating love, how you do quench my hunger. Creative

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I write this with a knot in my stomach and tears in my eyes. Another one lost to their own mind. When are we going to stop being so blind? When will we see the festering sore in society’s eye? The sick are getting sicker. The poor are getting poorer. Devalued down to a dollar sign.
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore” but only if you can afford
The treatments
The pills
The stigma galore
Payment of tribute
Growing more and more
Yet the beast it awakens
A beast deep inside
The beast of insatiable appetite,
Her cravings never subside
The beast of purloined sleep who haunts the waking
The soul laments,
Just someone, please!
Please care!
Someone please see!
Im not all who I pretend to be.
This weight is too heavy. Too heavy for me. Please rush to my aid before the beast collapses on me
Asylums no longer
Coverage denied
Except consumers of privilege
The rest left to try to survive
Live on the street or take your own life?
The soul’s cries unheard and unseen
Too absorbed by the LEDs and the next big thing
Obsessed with sociallite
Consumed by materiality
When did I let this define me?
Forgetting the brother, the sister, the lover and friend
Humanity is tied together by one simple thread
“Love one another as I have loved you”
We all need each other in the end