Well. . . I'm just about at the bottom of this barrel having used images I shot while walking around a downtown area two weeks ago. Haven't shot a thing since. In the old days, working in the studio. . . .
All I can do here today is whine, so I'll make it brief. I don't feel good in any way.
That was pretty quick. No details, just a summary.
I should give up this trying to pretend. I've given up what I was doing that was of any interest and have not replaced it with anything else. I haven't agreed to everything, but it ends up that way no matter.
You see those guys sitting at weekend breakfasts without a camera wearing the goofy blank look and talking about other people and the trouble with them? Not talking, really, just nodding and saying "mm-hm"?
You see me.
Next step--Social Media.
Stay tuned.
ReplyDeleteThus Dulness, the safe Opiate of the Mind,
The last kind Refuge weary Wit can find,
Fit for all Stations, and in all content,
Is satisfy'd, secure, and innocent:
No Pains it takes, and no Offence it gives,
Un-fear'd, un-hated, un-disturb'd it lives.
—And if each writing Author's best pretence,
Be but to teach the Ignorant more Sense;
Then Dulness was the Cause they wrote before,
As 'tis at last the Cause they write no more;
So Wit, which most to scorn it does pretend,
With Dulness first began, in Dulness last must end.
Mr. Alexander Pope, Of Course.
That hideous Mr. Pope (along with Dryden and Swift). I was made to study them in school. It never took.
ReplyDeleteI am with dulness.