I almost read the news today, but I had to stop. It's all too hideous. Rahm Emanuel writes an op ed that the dems have become "the party of permissiveness" and that it is "ballot box poison." Duh! Where the fuck has that wisdom been? Very few people are pulling for what has become known as "The Woke Agenda," yet that is what the dems ran on by and large. Now Schumer has the chutzpah to stand in front of a mic and say, "The American people won't stand for this," whatever "this" is at that time. Sure they will. Dems still run around like their hair's on fire while we watch "Trump vs. The World." We're living through the worst nightmare in generations, but it is taking on the mask of normalcy. People descry Musk, but it is Trump.
Trump Trump Trump Trump Trump.
I almost read the news today. . . oh, boy.
What's hot? Kanye West and Bianca Censori. I'm almost certain you didn't watch the Grammys, so here (link). This is what people care about more than politics. On the flip side, don't make AI nudes. AI is for making war.
How is Kanye West even a thing?
Fuck it. I went for a chai yesterday at the cafe. When I sat down, the big fellow who asked about my camera a week or so ago was there. He'd asked about my Leica Monochrom, then told me about his Leica M6. He'd been a photographer he said, but was "reformed." Still, when I saw him, he had his Leica with him. He's a big guy. Really big. Not tall, but tall enough with shoulders at least a foot and a half thick. He looks like a power lifter with that old time power lifter belly. I had my GFX medium format camera, so I walked over and said, "This is the camera you want." He picked it up and gave a little "ooo," for a moment, then looked around and took a couple pics.
"Wow. . . this is nice."
"I'm telling you. You'll want one now."
In a little bit, he yelled over to me. He was looking them up online. I could tell he'd gotten bit. He'd get one sooner or later.
A while later, I looked at the photos he'd taken. Mother fucker. He'd taken the photo above. No thought about it. He just put the camera to his eye, pointed, and shot. He wasn't worried about someone yelling at him. Like I said, he's a big guy and has an attitude to go along with it. I was pissed and felt the fool with my photos of lamps and drapes, etc. Photography is about skills, sure, but it is 50% guts.
I don't seem to have them anymore.
I've come to the realization that I can't take photos of people I know. I'm too self conscious. I don't like to do it. So. . . it is drapes and lamps and street signs.
And despair.
But I do like strangers.
It was still early in the afternoon yesterday when I left the cafe. The sun was out and the air was warm. I should go and take photographs, I said to no one. So I got into the car and headed south. But I didn't take any photos. Nope. I went to a Barnes and Nobles. I hadn't been to it for many, many years. I'd read that they had made a comeback, that they were under the leadership of the guy who headed Waterstones, and had turned around and were making a profit again (link). Waterstones is one of the finest bookstores I've ever been in, and I've tried to be in them all.
When I walked in, the store looked exactly as it had when it opened decades ago. Every book category was in the same place. The cafe looked the same. The magazines were next to it. The lit crit section, I'll admit, was a tenth of its old size. There was really nothing there. The CD department was half populated by children's gifts. But that was about it. The art and photography section was still mostly fashion books. I did see some photo books I had not been aware of, and unabashedly, I took off the plastic wrappers and sat down with them. If they were any good, I would buy them.
There was a book of Eggleston portraits. They were terrible. Worse. There was a book of Alex Webb photos. Boring. Magnum street photos. Nope. Several others which did not hold my interest. It was not a waste of time, though. I was beginning to like my photographs again.
When I was through looking at books, I headed to the grocers to get the makings for a Greek Salad a la me. Earlier, at the liquor store, I bought a pack of those new THC drinks. And when I got back to my mother's, I sat with her and drank half a can of a Margarita doper's brew. I needed something to take off the edge without calories. I thought this might be the ticket.
As we sat staring out over the lawn and waving to the passing neighbors, my mother said, "I'm going to miss you when you are gone."
Jesus Christ. Here we go. I downed the THC drink. I miss my life, such as it was. I'm a good son, I think, but I'm a lousy servant. I do what I do, but I can't help feeling a seething resentment. It is wrong, I know, which makes it worse. So I breathe and grin. But my nerves are shot all to hell now. I am someone who needs quite a bit of alone time. The constant presence of other people wears me down. Some biological switch must be triggered in the brains of people who live with a spouse and children. There must be some dopamine thing that happens. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm not built right. But surely there must be nights when people think of poisoning the entire family or just running away. I'm sure of it. I've heard women say in a voice subduing viciousness, but barely. . . "Mommy needs some time to herself." I guess that is when the biological switch must flip. I surely can't be alone in this.
"Mom. . . it's not like I haven't been coming to see you every fucking day since. . . ."
I said it and wanted to take it back.
"I know you do. I'm just saying I like having you around."
Fuck me.
I had another airliner bottle of Johnny Walker in the liquor store bag. I poured it into a glass. When it was gone, I needed more, so I opened another can of pot water.
"How's your mom," people say now instead of "hello." It's what people do. What can I say? She's no different than the week before or the week before that. Her bone is healing we hope. We'll know when we go to the ortho next week.
"She's eating well," I say.
"Well that's good. You're a good son."
That's what everybody says, to which I respond, "No. . . I'm an asshole." That is truly my response.
I don't know how the masses do what they do. I truly don't. Maybe they are happy, but I don't see it. Maybe they are comfortable, though, and that makes it palatable. I don't know how any of us do it, really. Two sides of the same coin. The human condition. It takes all our time not to think about it. It's best read in a book or watched on t.v. We've learned that from Plato/Aristotle, haven't we? Catharsis. We feel better after the performance and are ready for a comedy. It's what we do. It's how we get by.
I guess.
But. . . that fucking guy, huh? Just taking a picture like it was nothing. WTF?
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