Fuck it--I'll post a photograph. I have a hundred of these kind of images sitting on my desktop. There is nothing special about any of them, but I don't know if everybody or anybody is enamored of my A.I. creations. There is some enigma about this photo, maybe, but not enough to hold interest for more than a second. It sure as heck ain't no Vivian Maier. But. . . you know. . . photography gets me "out in the world."
I watched this guy on YouTube last night. He's about as fucked up as I am. . . but with a better accent. I "enjoyed" what he had to say about his photography experience, though. And he mentions Kierkegaard. How about that?
I've watched all of his six or seven videos. He has only been on YouTube for a few months. While his YouTube vids are pretty well shot from different angles and edited together fairly well. . . his photography is bad. I don't watch him for his aesthetic vision. I'm not sure his has been well developed. No, I watch him to hear him explain his tortured soul.
This morning, I thought to just shoot medium format film today. It is going to be sunny and 87 degrees, or so they say. Similar weather all weekend. People will be out, I think. Me and my Hasselblad. Me and my two Rollieflex cameras. Me and my Mamiya 6x6.
And I'll wonder if I am experiencing life or just recording it. Ha! I've been "experiencing" life for a long time now without recording much of it, and I have to tell you. . . it ain't much fun. I'd rather put it in a box for awhile, see it through a little viewfinder.
"Did you just take my picture?"
"Not really. I mean, I don't know you. I used you as a trope, perhaps, for the time and place, but no. . . I don't think it was you."
That doesn't usually help. But with film cameras, I can simply say no and hope they don't punch me.
I haven't taken a good picture for a very long time. I am beginning to suspect that I have put too much pressure on myself to make the kind of photos that I think I should. I've gotten too many voices in my head. I really should only be photographing what I like and what truly interests me and fuck the rest. I don't really care about broken down factories, grain towers, old cars, etc. I like the way girls look. I like what they do. I'm not allowed to say that anymore, I know. These aren't the Rat Pack years. I shouldn't even confess it now, I am certain. But it is true and I still can't take my eyes off them. It isn't sexual. Even now, I am like a chaste girl from a Victorian novel. I still say no most of the time. I like the attention, but I really want love. So no, you can guffaw if it pleases you, but it is purely visual. Boys are the most awkward looking and acting things alive. They are like horses. Some of you, maybe many, think horses are beautiful, but to me, they look hideous. That long neck and outsized head are monstrous, I think. Same with boys. Not head and neck, but just the way they seem to be put together out of machine parts. Maybe it is their psychological makeup. Their attitudes about everything, really. Not to say that girls aren't fucked up. Sure they are. Badly. But the aesthetics disguises so much of that if you only look from a distance. And sometimes their talk really makes me giggle. They make me want to be smart and witty. I like to make them laugh. The way they laugh. . . omg. . . like diamonds falling into a crystal goblet. A boy's laugh, of course, is a donkey's bray. I do have male friends, don't get me wrong. But I don't enjoy looking at them. From women friends, I must always tear myself away before I become too obvious.
"What are you looking at?"
"I was just admiring your earrings."
Yes, I've learned. There is a deep paranoia in many beautiful women. Boys stare at them day and night. They end up concentrating on their flaws.
Have I made enough generalizations yet? I'll stop. But that was fun. My choice of photographing anything, though, would be a woman in just about any context or setting, cheap and tawdry or deeply textured and romantic.
There is my confession. Do you think I could put that in an ad?
And yea. . . like that fellow says, it is not a real interaction. I would be stepping out of the river, a mere witness.
Hadn't planned on writing that today, but there you have it. Something other than the miseries of my own current life.
Maybe tomorrow I will explain how that spills over into my musical tastes. Yea. . . that would be good.
If I can remember.
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