Man, I've probably fucked things up here in our little hamlet. Last night I went and spoke with the neighbors, letting them know that there was soon going to be a coup d' état in the H.O.A. One of the neighbors that I spoke with is on the board and they're being ousted, etc.
They are power crazy. It was like I was macing two caged animals; exciting in the way that cruelty in dreams is disturbing but upon awakening has caused no real harm. You are just left wondering why the mind would do that.
Oh well, they are all crazy here, for power and for other things. The neighbor on the far end of our set of townhouses attempted suicide yesterday. So, there's that.
There are problems, no matter where we go. Our life is like an old blues song.
I go into SF today. I like working from the office, sometimes. There is that sense of combined purpose there. I know it sounds silly, and goes against all that I have ever written here, but it's true. The product that is made by the company I work for is a product almost entirely of the imagination. I mean, there is a reality to it, but not like other things. It is barely a thing at all, just a collection of functional ideas, taking place over vast distances. To watch it grow and adapt in the short time that I've been here has been fascinating. Those involved have truly created something where there was nothing before; ideas that have formed into function.
The end result is perhaps dull, as it involves customer service - understandably, not the most exciting of concepts - but from there one can gain perspective into other areas of the collective imagination. The way that the digital/online world works is a perpetual source of wonder for me. It seems impossible, but it is there, it works. I have seen it.
I'm not as productive when I go into the office. There are far too many people to talk to there, too many distractions. I like it, now that I don't have to do it every day. But being around intelligent people is important. It is a charge.
I will bring my camera, of course. I'll do a little street shooting, pretending that I am cool again, inventing the genre of bum-pornography. I'll let you know how that goes. I'm going to offer to pay two crackheads to have sex and get some real gritty urban images. Just stinky, dirty, bum-sex. The purpose of this project will be to produce a strong sense of sadness in the viewer. Maybe I'll smoke some crack with them, to gain their trust, then pay extra to mace them while they're fumbling to give each other diseases. I'll teach them to sing "Sean is the champ, Sean is the champ....!!!"
It's my dream, so why not?