(Yes, recycling older pics)
I tell myself that it might be useful if I die younger than I would have preferred. That a document of my life might be of interest and value to my son. But I question if my temperament here accomplishes what I hoped for in that regard. Thinking that way prevents me from writing with a semblance of honesty, and when I am not being honest I rely on vulgarity. When I lean on vulgarity, it leans inside of me, smokes its cigarettes.
I can not write here for very long this morning - I go into the city to work, then some loud rock show tonight with Cato, then to San Diego for the weekend, then home again. I go to sunny San D to visit with two old friends.
I have been friends with both of them for many years. One since early childhood, 3rd grade, the other since early adolescence. I have told the story here before over the last ten years so there is little reason to tell it again, but we have each known one other for a very long time. They met each another in college, both friends of mine independently. They came to know one another once departing high school, upon recognizing one another as familiar in that strange and exciting new place: Gainesville, Florida. My buddy CS went there also - Univ. of Fla., the Gators. He studied photography under a famous photographer and others.
I never truly studied photography. Even when in film school I avoided the more technical aspects of the art, of learning those facts. I have just picked things up here and there along the way. Knowing only the basics even of my own technique, if it can be called that. Photographing a child, a woman, and a dog as if they were candid fashion subjects, celebrities amongst civilians. Documenting those lives living nearest mine.
The night is long, the sun is coming, in the distance memory runs the horizon line.
The night is long, the sun is coming, in the distance memory runs the horizon line.
.
