Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Kvetch



I made my list; I had my plan.  But by seven o'clock, I still hadn't done half of the things on it.  Stressed, I came home to eat dinner.  A shower.  A glass of beer.  Salad in front of the television, then wine and dinner.

"Oh dear cat," I said, "I don't think I'll be reading what I need to tonight."

And I went for the scotch.  A Johnny Walker Gold.  Usually, I don't drink blended scotches, but I have to say this shit is good.  I like it better than the Blue.  It was an unexpected gift from a friend I've known for years but who I rarely ever see any more.  He has a wife and two daughters and somehow our circles do not intertwine.  But this scotch is the best thing of the evening and I will have to give him something in return even though he has ruined me so that I will want to buy more expensive scotches once again.  I wish I had big Polaroid pictures of flowers that I could give him to hang in the house.  But I don't.  He would like the girly pics, but his wife found out about "Lonesomeville" and has painted me the town pornographer, so I'm guessing even offering to make portraits of his two teenage daughters is out of the question.  Selah.

I did absolutely nothing this weekend, and this morning, finally, I was rejuvenated.  One day back at the factory took all of that away.   I want to break with my routines, but if I want to keep my job it is pretty much impossible.  I will have to give up on the idea.

Don't expect any new pictures this week.  We will have only the little girl.  I am in meetings back to back to back to back until the end of the week.  There will be no creative moment.

The blog grew this week.  I am going to try to get it linked here and there.  If you have any ideas about that, let me know.  I want to stay anonymous, but I still mourn losing the popularity of the old site.  You could Google just about anything and something from that blog would show up.  Sometimes there were a thousand visitors a day.  I know it isn't much, but it is something.

Winter winds snatch at leaves that litter the roads and highways, the cold blue skies a marvel.  Time flies and the days grow longer.  Soon the world will come out of the darkness.  I can feel the fleeting winter already in retreat though it will give us one or two more blasts.  Song birds make mornings noisy as they party through their winter break.  The sunny south, they scream like drunken revelers on vacation.  The poems of e.e. cummings are everywhere you turn as we leave the winter of Robert Frost behind.

3 comments:


  1. Take some flower photos.

    I happen to really dig portraits -- but you know they are most difficult to
    sell. Until 30-50 years after the death of the artist and then only perhaps...

    :)


    There sure are many meetings at that Factory. How does any production get done when you are constantly talking about shit?

    P.S. I still find her intriguing this little imp. Can you send me the photo of her holding the guns?

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  2. Cute little girl.
    While you're at it, could you also throw in some cat- photos?
    I'm dying to see that creature that can take it to live with you!
    See you!
    XXX

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  3. L, Yes, I will take pictures of flowers. I will be one of the flower photographers. I am giving up on everything controversial. There are many meetings at the factory, true. That is what they have me do. It is how they normalize me. It is where they make me take my medicine and sit quietly. The dicks and clits of my supervisors get very engorged by it. It gives them great and perverse sexual satisfaction. Whatever I can do to please them. Even fascists need sexual release.

    N, Sure. Cats, too. Flowers and cats. Both euphemisms for the pictures I used to make, now literal images with no suggestive power.

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