Confess and Repent

For what seems the longest while, I've been sitting here trying to figure out what to say. Can't come up with nothin' other than the weather predictor on my phone said it would rain all day. Never did more than a sprinkle. No matter. I stayed in on my "time off" and cooked up the pictures I had taken the day before. I'll never do a shoot for somebody else again unless they are paying me. This is the only photo I took for myself. The rest can go on a book jacket or a Hallmark card. Having said that, I agreed to go to a hard place in Gotham where the boxer/murderer's father lives and take a few more. Today, I will shoot for me. . . I think. I have no real idea what I am walking into.

Tonight, I will make another beef stew. That is what I am really looking forward to.

Oh, thanks for asking. I think my neck et. al. is just a bit better today, but I can't be sure until I start moving about. If it doesn't get better, I'm in real trouble. I'm still on the Willie's and narcotics to sleep at night. That is going to present me with its own problem, too. Soon I'll just be reciting "Dreams of an Opium Eater." That is not De Quincy's title, it is my own. I've already confessed.  All that is left to do is repent.  

Like most bad things, though, it all began innocently enough.  And then, a twist of fate and a bad decision, and then. . . we have the making of a good story.  It is a matter of how we write the conclusion.  What do you want, peeps, a redemptive ending or the devolution of a pathetic character?  

"Rolling down the street smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice."

We live in times when drug users, murderers, and rapists top the charts.  Maybe our story doesn't need a redemptive ending at all.  Rather, it might be a tale of decadent success, just like old Snoop.  Like Kobe.  Like The Don.  

If Bonnie and Clyde lived in these times, they'd have their own brand of something and would be advertising's darlings.  They could have their own t.v. show.  Things would have been a lot different if there was cable tv back then.  

Once again, I don't want to go this afternoon, but I've said yes, so I must.  A man and his word.  But I'd rather just eat and drink the day away.  

Now for the sounds of 1959.  For real.  The jazz of this period thrills me.  This is a really gentle and sweet way to start a Sunday.  I can imagine French toast, bacon, and mimosas.  I have to.  I have none of the ingredients for that here.  Nor a love to share it with.  I'll just have to look forward to a hot beef stew tonight. 

Selavy.