Revelations

I'm feeling wounded today.  Too much fighting, too much drinking.  Everything seems to be fading away. . . drifting.

How does one tell the truth in an age that demands that we be merely revealing?  We reveal much without ever coming close to the truth, it seems.  Most revelations are distractions.

The man in the photograph is a cart vendor in Santa Fe.  He needed help pushing his cart onto his truck.  I made a deal with him--labor for a picture.  It seemed a good deal.

From Osborne's "Hunter's in the Dark":

"But every year there came the summer holidays and with his free two months he tried to engineer a few surprises.  One year he went to the island of Hydra in Greece.  Another summer saw him in Iceland.  He went alone and came back alone, and he was mostly alone when he was there.  Even in Hydra he was alone, walking the dust paths that ran around the island.  Swimming alone, eating alone.  Most importantly, sleeping alone.  He couldn't say why he was alone; he was pretty in his way.  But then again he was a dreamer and a loner.  It was the way he was."