The remnants of Christmas will linger for awhile. In truth, the Twelve Days of Christmas lasts until the first of the year, so. . . O.K. But nobody I have ever known celebrates the Twelve Days of Christmas, so there is that. Besides, it is Hanukkah now, so. . . . .
I have dated Jewish girls and have many Jewish friends, and all of them participate in Christmas. The Santa version.
I have to tell you that I am just gaga over some photos I processed last night. They were made with my medium format Fuji and non-Fuji, non medium format lenses. The sensor on that camera is totally oo-la-la. The color saturation knocks me out. So what do I do with such a lovely thing? Well. . . I pretty much fuck it up. But the thing is. . . the image stands up to it. There is so much there there. So last night I cooked up a bunch of images in a process that gave me shivers. I don't know if it always will, but for now. . . .
I am making old postcards again! They are almost 3D.
I want to try it on people. You know. . . some visual lust. It is only visual, you know. You may not believe it, but it is true. I am addicted to visual beauty and pleasure. My sexual proclivity is for my own true love, but absent that, a little creative activity would be nice.
But I grow old. Not in the way of old movies, though. I watched TCM with my mother on Christmas Eve and realized something. Movies of the late thirties through the early fifties had a real staunch ideology on the stages of life. In old movies, old people were portrayed as old. They dressed "old" and moved "old." They had "old" personalities, staunch, stern, and brittle. Even one of my favorite characters, Uncle Willy in "The Philadelphia Story" can't escape the stereotype. I like his "spunk," but he is written off in the film as a "pincher."
I need to research this and see what has been written about the ageism of old films. It seems a fertile ground for academic papers.
Have you seen Peter O'Toole in "Venus" (link)? C.C. and I saw it long ago, and even then we found it devastating. O'Toole is brilliant, however, and nails the type hook, line, and sinker.
Oh. . . I don't wish to think of it.
For now, I have the clock tower in the village square and some other fine objects to show you later. Given circumstances, they will have to do.
Sleep has become a problem for me. Went to bed at eleven and was up four times during the night. Finally got up at five. Of course there are naps, but I've read they don't make up for a good night's sleep. I've eschewed sleep aids for a bit hoping to cleanse my system. They surely must be toxic. I'm trying to give my body a chance to regain its "natural" rhythm, if it still has one. But I'll not worry myself over it. I'll just have to go with whatever I am given. Play the hand I'm dealt. Suffer the blows I may have inflicted upon myself.
It is still dark out. I've read the news, though at this hour it may still be yesterday's. I guess I can go back and see if it has been updated to the newest horrors and latest opinions. Maybe I'll take a long walk in the dark. I see people doing that every "morning." I'm guessing that those are people who cannot sleep, either.
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