Saw this on my walk yesterday. I'm not even sure this is Halloween decoration. If so, they are a little late. Most people have had their Halloween decorations up since early September. WTF? There's nothing wrong in this country. No mam, no sir.
"Hey, kids. . . come look at this!"
Nothing that a good election couldn't fix. Yea, I watched the debate last night. It was the first night of my "Damp October." I'd gone with my mother and her neighbors to the community get together. I had a beer and a hot dog. Hell of a way to begin. But, you know, I said only drinking when out with people. Then I came home. I was good. Made an A.A. cocktail of cranberry and soda and decided the hot dog, as unnecessary as it was, had been enough "dinner." I was doing well.
Then the debate. Why? Why, oh lord, why? I wasn't going to, but you know. . . I was afraid of missing something.
I'll never get that time back. I poured a whiskey.
Still and all. . . I drank MUCH LESS than I have been, so it wasn't a terrible start to Damp October.
Except for the debate thing.
I didn't see this yesterday. I see it every day on the drive to my mother's house.
"Do you admit Trump lost the election?"
"I want to look to the future."
Me, too. I'm checking my horoscope, throwing the tarot, reading my palm. It is troublesome, though. The future is only a hazy suggestion. Seers know this. It's a difficult business to be in.
I showed the pictures I posted yesterday to my conservative friend.
"Why are they so blurry?"
Why am I so stupid?
Last night at happy hour with the neighbors, my mother's 90 year old neighbor's daughter was there. She's a nice woman, a librarian at the Big University. She and my mother's across the street neighbor with whom we've had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with, were talking about books. They were enamored of some popular novels by authors I can't recall and name. They especially liked one about an ex-military guy who is a wizard and works solving crimes with the Chicago police.
"You'd like this one. This guy can really write!"
"Do you guy's like Proust?"
I didn't say that. I only thought it--darkly. Aesthetics are very personal. Everybody should be considered a critic. I'm a niche guy myself, I guess, a member of a teeny-tiny club. No, maybe it isn't so tiny. I mean there ARE museums and galleries, though not so many literary bookstores. And even I, sometimes, diverge from the path.
For instance, I like this.
You can buy this for $1,200 at Lumas gallery. I own several of the photographer's prints that I traded for long, long ago. I think I want to try to imitate this for education's sake. I think I can. I just need a model and a place to shoot.
So many needs.
I am a mess. Do I want to shoot things in dreamy fashion? Do I want to be a street photographer and document the world "out there"?
I'm not sure I can do either anymore anyway. I've lost confidence. I've lost my touch.
Tennessee's wife is right. I need my own Ghislaine. But not like that. I'm not looking to be P. Diddy who everyone of a sudden NOW wants to sue.
"He gave me drugs! He did SEX to me!!!"
WTF? Really? You thought that going to the big parties at a rapper's house was going to be like tea with the Queen? You got what you went for. . . and maybe a little more. . . and now? Really? Now?
Whatever. I'm not qualified to speak about this. I just wish J.D. Vance had gone to live out his party fantasies there. More than once. Maybe not. He'd probably be worse than he is, driven by a deep and unrelenting remorse. He is remorseful enough now as it is, bitching his mother and all.
"I have a beautiful wife and three beautiful children."
You're in denial, dude. You've pushed that shit down as deep as it will go, but it is still eating at you, isn't it, bro? You just know those eyes got him in trouble when he was young, the little flirt.
But enough of that. I'll stop here before they use the leeches.
That's a literary reference. I'm sure you got it.
O.K. then. . . . Let's just forget about it and do a little swing dancing. I mean, I can still drink when we're out and having fun.
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