I am just ignorant right now. I know I haven't posted in a while, but I've written up draft after draft of proposals for this site's next post and kept them for my own. I think they ground me when I don't share. I am naturally a selfish person, and I like having secrets. I lord it over people on ocassion, in that time after a few drinks when you find out what you really think. It's not that I haven't wanted to post, just everything is too personal for even me to read.
I have two parts.
I haven't made up my mind.
My life is again. Some people will tell me what note their day is. I know what shape mine is. A cone right now. I'm about mid-height. It's a 30 degree angle up top. Recently I have begun communing with storms. Which basically means I stand out in them like a drunk and sound my barbaric yamp over the roofs of the world. And what I love is this guy named Dr. D. He comes into my camera store two days after every storm and gets disposable cameras developed to 6x9, full-frame. He used to be in the Weather Service. Now he's senile, hates my manager, and missing quite a few teeth. He brings me pictures of my storms. And I'll sit and talk for hours with him about cloud formations and cold fronts and the house down the street that caught fire and burned. But I won't tell him I just sold a camera to that couple whose house burned three days before finals week. Four days ago I saw one of my favorite photgraphs ever: a woman brough it in to my store, it was an offset girl's face in a fancy dress and ponytail with glitter eyeshadow, one hand was behind her head and she was missing a tooth and smiling with every ounce of confidence I have ever seen. I told the woman she needed it bigger and sold her a 6x9 version. I wanted to post one in the shop, but didn't ask.
I feel again: still no loneliness though I miss some friends.
I have not become an anti-digital advocate, I am merely pro-film and anti-photoshop. This month's Outdoor Photographer, a mediocre magazine, has an article titled horribly ("Where the Spot Meets the Pixel") in which they say something to the effect of, Too often a digital photagrapher will say, 'I'll fix it in photoshop,' when fixing takes longer than getting it right in the f---ing first place. And what makes me really angry are people who would rather own a photoshoped image than a Phillip Hyde, Freeman Patterson, or Alfred Steiglitz. Photoshop is the Thomas Kincade of the imaging world.
I don't know if I'm so much a storm chaser or a storm watcher. I'm really more of a storm crafter. I'm really more of a storm: Lister or weather.
The sky is calm
(I now notice my ailment taking hold again. When I school from 7 to 1 then work from 3 to 10 I can feel it coming back. Today was a day off. I lay in worship of illness on my futon all day. I hope if I get to bed now I can help keep it off for just two and one-half more weeks. But really I am already faltering, being slowly buried again. And this week, when my disability permit expires, I will have to start riding my bike. I am not that strong yet. I still can't walk well.)