March

I live in a culture that privileges Charlie Sheen.  It is not him. He is just in the news lately.  I can completely understand Paris Hilton, but Charlie Sheen?  I don't get it.  

Sometimes I feel responsible, though.  Or at least culpable.  How many important issues are in front of us right now?  How many things do I need to stand up for?  How much is there to do?  

And still I spend my time making pictures.  To what end?  

I've done a fair bit of marching and protesting, though.  In the end, I guess, I couldn't stand being around the people on "my" side.  Didn't like the people on the other side either.  And truly, there was merit in parts of everything and terrible things, too.  So I decided it was better if I went my way alone.  

It is like relationships.  You must be blind to be in them as you were blinded when you entered.  Selective seeing, selective hearing.  It is exhilarating.  If you are lucky enough.  

I listened to models talk about their lives, their relationships.  Most didn't sound very romantic to me.  Rather pragmatic for the most part.  But there was always something exciting on the horizon, some guy mackin' on them--or a bunch.  "Gee," I'd say, "that's hard to figure."  "What do you mean?" they'd ask in surprise.  "I mean why would anyone go for you?" I'd answer.  Then I'd try to watch them puzzle that out for a minute.  I liked to watch the self-doubt play out across their faces.  "Maybe they want to turn you upside down for awhile."  "????"  

The thing on the horizon.  It was harder to see.  

It is March.  The March Hare.  Time Marches On.  Three weeks 'til Spring.  Fucking Charlie Sheen.