No sleep. Rain. Dull gray light. Is there anyone anywhere who dreams art? Think it, sure, but dream it? I wonder what that says about things. I'll think about it and get back to you.
This guy is just killing me. Those of you who do not like my "Postcards from Nowhere" series will probably like his photos more. They are good. I think I'll write to him and ask him to stop it. I have ideas. I swear, I can catch up. What's fun for me, though, is if you Google Osama Esid, my blog comes up second on the list. I need to make a website of my photos. Posting every day is good, but much gets diluted. I am almost ready for some of my pictures to be seen as a group. But damn, I'd better hurry. Yes, I'll ask him to quit it.
* * * * *
I couldn't quit thinking about it. I'd picture some couple coming over and everyone having a drink and being excited, flirting with the other couple's husband or wife, and then the kissing and the undressing. Sure, I'd heard about it, seen in in movies like "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice," but I'd never known anyone who had done it. And I kept thinking about the look in Bill's wife's eyes as she pulled me toward the bedroom. Swingers. It had seemed like a cultural joke, something greasy middle-aged couples were excited by. But now the sexual revolution had taken hold in the bedrooms of working class trailer park couples. I mean, they'd always cheated, but this wasn't cheating. This was straight up hedonism.
Over the break, I saw people from high school I'd not seen for awhile. Some were home from colleges on Christmas break, but most were still living in town. A few were married and some had babies. A number of fellows had become firemen. They liked the life, they said, with so many days off. They worked for twenty-four hours at a time and smoked pot at the station when they were there. Many had motorcycles. And as in high school, I felt odd around them as they jockeyed about. Sideburns and mustaches didn't mean much. For all of it, everything seemed pretty much the same.
And so I spent most of my time with Sherri, passions inflamed. Everything was crazy. It was Christmas.
* * * * Postscript * * * *
I agree.
ReplyDeleteMake a website put up your photos in groups. I promise not to go there and say anything.
:-)
Did you happen to see Jeff Bridges on Charlie Rose? Talking about that movie. He said a few things that struck me. One was when he talked about the Fear and how it is necessary but there. I feel that every time I go to write down the pome which has arrived.
Gotta see that movie for sure.
I got stuff to say (a problem with me) maybe another time though.
Dreams are art aren't they?
Dear Make the website i am sure it will be exsellent
ReplyDeleteI will stop actually for now i have I am working as server in south florida
study for new project unfortunately i will be leaving soon to minneapolis.i will miss this job and the sunshine state
thak you Dear
keep the good work coming
I agree, yes a website. I'd like to see them as a group. But do hurry...time's a wastin'
ReplyDeleteI don't think I sleep enough to have dreams, or if I do they are strange and scary. Of course you dream art, it's who you are, I think.
I was surprised recently by a confession of a swinger. Never would've expected it...'you just never know'
L, I didn't see Bridges/Rose, but maybe it is on YouTube. Dreams. Maybe they are the stuff of art. I thought that after I wrote. But they are not art until they are made artifact. I don't really know what I'm saying. I think I meant something when I wrote it.
ReplyDeleteR, There is an entire town on a big river here made up of swingers. I'm not kidding. It is small, but that is what they do. That's what happens, I guess, when there is little on television.
Anonymous, You are going in the wrong direction. I hope it is worth it. If you are Esid, I would not have you stop for a moment. I love the work. And thanks for the props.