Monday, September 26, 2016

Action Is Character



I have spent my morning writing my life's complaint.  It only took a microsecond to delete.  One must make choices in life.  The choices we make that defines us, I guess.

Action is character.  That's a line from "An Education" about literature, but it is true in all regards.

The opposite is true as well.  We are defined by what we don't do.  That's surely why they invented the Ten Commandments.

There seem to be more than ten in my life.  There is an ever growing, ever evolving list of  "thou shalt nots."

I must take stock.

I look forward to tonight's debate.  It will be fun.  Gallows humor, of course.  I will be forced to vote for a candidate I hold in terribly low esteem.  Well. . . I could just not vote or vote for a third party, but I fear the outcome of that.  So, I will watch tonight with sick delight knowing what I have to do.

Action is character.  Inaction is fate.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Standpipe Siamese



Standpipe Siamese.  I have no idea what that means.  I would like to go to Siam, which is what Ronald Reagan called Thailand during his sterling performance in the presidential debate that helped win him the office.  He already had Alzheimer's.  It didn't matter.

Siam it is.

There are Siamese cats and Siamese twins which have nothing to do with one another as far as I can tell.

Old Bangkok.  I didn't make it.  I probably never will.

People under thirty don't own cars or homes, I read.  They change jobs ever three years, so a forty year mortgage makes no sense.  They are committed to renting and travel.  Travel brings more happiness than things, or so a study offered.  I am the sort who likes to buy things when he travels.  Those objects litter my house.  I have many poison darts and arrows that go with bows and blowguns. I am well armed.  I have woven jungle baskets and clay pots and a whale's tooth.

Steven Wright said you can't have everything.  Where would you put it?

The kids are right, though.  The expense of my house has hamstrung me, as has my car.

I found a picture of myself yesterday--at the helm of my sailboat--in an old lap desk that I hadn't opened for many years, I guess.  I was twenty-seven.  I didn't own a house.  I was driving the VW bus I inherited when my father died.  I traveled somewhere whenever I wasn't working.  I looked peaceful and happy.

There is madness in wanting to visit the old, gone world.  It doesn't exist and maybe it never did.  The more I get, the less I have, it seems.

"Rosebud."

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Getting Even When You're Dead



Ansel Adams called William Mortensen the "anti-Christ" of photography.  You all know Ansel Adams and his photographs of Yosemite and the Great West.  His photography is everywhere.  It is the "most understood" photography in the world.  I've never been a fan, but I didn't mind his photography.  He taught photographers much.  But recently (yesterday) I discovered that he was quite a bit more Puritan than I had known.  William Mortensen's pictures are getting an audience again after Adams had him written out of art history now that photo sites are talking about lens bokeh.  Photographers are willing to pay a lot for a soft lens.

I much prefer Mortensen's images and the soft Pictorialism he perfected.  But you know that.



I didn't get a chance to write yesterday.  I met with the roofing contractor early in the morning, then went straight to my tax accountant before heading to the factory.  It was a practical day, the very sort I despise.  But Friday evening was nice with a beer and a meal at the bar of a restaurant I rarely go to, and then a chance to lie about and read until sleep.

I'm a mess, people, and I don't see any relief for quite awhile.  I'm going to take a long walk now and then get something to eat.  I don't want to do anything if I can't be a flaneur.  It is all I was ever meant to be.


Thursday, September 22, 2016

Fall Time



It's fall time!  To celebrate this morning, I had pumpkin loaf with my coffee.

I've written and deleted, written and deleted.

This is just to say. . .

It is autumn once again.


Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Failed Experiments



I DID manage to do some experimenting yesterday with image transfer mediums.  None of them worked.  That is the way of experiments, though.  You try, you fail, you try. . . and one day. . . .  I'm just glad I did SOMETHING.  It was a learning experience.  Mainly, I learned that it sucks not having a studio.  Everything takes four times as long as it should and your concentration is diluted.

Whatever.

I got the second bid on my roof, and it is 60% of the first one.  I will not seek another.  It is time to get this thing done.

I sit by the bay window in the dining room looking at a distorted view of the world outside.  I can't see much, really.  The windows are smeared with condensation.  According to weather.com, the humidity is 95%.  It is warm and muggy here the day before the autumnal equinox.  It will stay that way for another month.  It is the madding month as we natives watch the world north of us begin its seasonal change.

I may get into the car and take a drive.  Oh. . . but wait. . . there is no gas in the southeastern U.S.

I'm thinking of moving to a first world country.  Maybe a civilized place.  I'm sick of the left.  I'm tired of the right.  Perhaps I'll move to a country that doesn't problematize everybody's life.  I'm weary with it.  Everybody's a critic.  Everybody's a censor.  Everybody's snotty, too.  And no matter where you want to go, it is difficult to get there.  I'm sorry, but the Tea Party IS right about something--I didn't have to lock my bike up when I went to college.  I'd just put it in the rack and it would be there when I came back.  I never locked my car because I left the keys in the ignition.  And I used to be able to book a flight the day of and get to the airport ten minutes before takeoff.  This is not a rose colored view.  Just facts.  In my neighborhood, people didn't lock their doors even when they went to the store.  We did lock the doors, though, if we went on vacation.

I'm not saying there aren't tradeoffs.  Now I can order things from Amazon on my computer.  I can text people.

But I have to keep my computer and my phone locked up or with me all the time or someone will take them.

Yea, yea, yea. . . and the streets were paved with gold.

I need a vacation.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

I Need a Sympathetic Sponsor--Please!



This picture is one of my weekend projects, but you won't be able to tell.  It is a digital photo that I converted to black and white, then painted over in Photoshop.  After that, I blended it with the original color photograph to punch the colors just a bit.  I used to do something similar years ago.  You need to have time to work at it.  In the end, though, as with this one, I'm not sure anyone would know unless I said something, so it is probably not worthwhile.  But it gives me ideas.  What if I did this less subtly and pasted it onto a board, then put encaustic wax over it and then transferred an image of one of those groovy NYC advertising bills over the top and began scraping away at it until the image underneath began to appear?  I could drizzle some paint on top of that and just let it run into little points toward the bottom of the frame.  I've done something like that before, but not that exactly.

I just need a studio, that is all.  My old studio is still empty.  I went by on Sunday.  I thought about finding someone to split the rent with and trying to move back in.  I have so many ideas right now that would be much, much easier if I had a large workspace.  I'll look for someone.  I need that studio again.

Boring.

I haven't slept much the past three nights.  Shit travels through my brain.  To calm myself, I think about making art--hence. . . .

I need $20,000 for camera equipment right now.  Insane, right?

What I truly need is a sympathetic sponsor.  There is nothing I couldn't do with one.  There is nothing I can do without one.  What a world.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Perpetually Tired



I am perpetually tired.  I know I need some very long and real time off and away.  I would love to spend a week in San Francisco just lying about a grand hotel and walking the streets with my camera.  Some days in San Francisco, some in Berkeley, or rather at the Claremont Spa and Resort.  I stayed there for a few days on my last trip, and it was marvelous.  Ten days, not a week.  I want ten days.

That would be an expensive vacation.

My buddy just bought a new house.  It is a beaut.  It is not too grand or ostentatious, but it has a multi-level pool that is enclosed by palms and shrubs so that it is something of a grotto.  The pool is visible from every room so that every room seems larger than it is.  I went with him to buy the super-big leather couch at Restoration Hardware that I wish I had a big enough room for.  I would never leave that couch.  My buddy needed some other things from RH, too.

He recently bought an old Ford Bronco and had the seats restored in leather.  He bought a Triumph motorcycle and is thinking of getting a BMW.  I can't say I'm not envious.

Oh. . . he doesn't work in a factory.

But I'm O.K.  I need a roof, some insulation. . . .

I won't get that vacation.  There is worse coming.  Might as well get used to it.  Still. . . I want my Golden Spoon.


Sunday, September 18, 2016

A Missed Moon



So. . . the day continued as it began.  I didn't leave the house but to go to the gym and grocers.  I didn't eat or drink until seven.  Left alone, that is just the way I am.  It wasn't that I just sat slack jawed.  For the first time in a long time, I was able to sit at the computer and work on images.  I kind of got a rhythm going and didn't want to stop.  But working on pictures can eat up a day and/or a night.  You've worked on a couple things and hours have elapsed.

And so. . . I was a geek nerd.

Maybe tomorrow I'll have the guts to shoot.  As I drove from the gym to get groceries, I kept a photographer's eye open, and I saw things that I should have stopped to photograph.  But it is difficult to stop the car unless that is what you have intended to do all along.  It is dangerous to pull off the side of the road and approach a man with his daughter and her dog and say, "Hey, pal, you mind if I take a few pictures?"

Nope.  You can't do that.  I can tell you for sure.

*     *     *     *     *

I wrote that last night as I was missing the big Harvest Moon.  Missed it completely.  Wasn't even aware.  Doesn't mean it didn't effect me, though.  I stayed up late and got up early, lunacy-driven, perhaps.  Lunar, lunatic, lunacy.

Damnit, I hate having missed it.  That is not something you can get back.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

Twofer



My plan to make pictures this weekend is off to a slumbering start.  After the gym yesterday, there was still plenty of daylight left, but I fooled around the house until it was too late to go.  No matter, I told myself, I'll get a quick and early start tomorrow morning.

I slept in until eight this morning, and now I am lingering over coffee.  So much for quick and early starts.

It is too much pressure.

As the morning rushes away, I wonder what the day will hold.  I need to do some things.  I want to do others.

And then there is making pictures.

I am paralyzed by choices.

My life seems to have been magical in the past.  I had time for everything.  Photographs just happened.  Everything just happened.  There was an embarrassing wealth of time.

Whatever.

Last night at the grocery store, I was standing in the "10 items or less" line that was not moving.  The guy at the front of the line couldn't read signs, I guess, nor could the cashier.  The "10 items or less" sign apparently means unless no one else is in line or if you just choose not to pay attention to it.  Not only did he have far too many items, but he didn't seem to know how to use the debit card machine.  I was in no particular hurry, but the societal breakdown that this evinces galls me much.  There is that, plus the fact that this particular grocery store chain is known for hiring special needs people due to a law suit that they lost a long time ago.  I don't know who is slower, really, the special needs workers or the dirty little hipsters at Whole Foods.  Neither group is really capable of much industry.  The one group socializes while the other group ponders.  They are both slow moving.  One, however, tries to be snotty and the other goes out of their way to be nice.  The end result, however, is the same.

Anyway. . . I had lots of time to stand and observe the crowd.  Behind me was a group of three, a woman and two men.  I heard the woman say,

"People keep telling me that salmon is good for you.  What do you think?  Should we try it?"

On of the men made a kind of groaning sound somewhere between "maybe" and "I don't want to," a sort of sound a cat makes when you hold it close to you in a towel before a bath.

I don't think they tried the salmon.  I turned to look at their shopping cart.  Nope.  They were not salmon eaters.

It is possible to eat really cheaply in the U.S.  You can go to the big box stores and buy cans of food that are almost out of date.  You can eat happy meals and taco Tuesdays at the quick food places.  There are always special coupons for the kind of foods I don't buy.

Why would you eat salmon?

O.K.  That was a two part entry.  But they are obscurely connected in that I went to the grocery store instead of going to make pictures.  I got a vignette rather than a photograph.

But I salvaged something.

The sky is cloudy.  It will be very hot and humid later.  I should pick a camera and go.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Indecision and Chafing



I think that I might make some new photographs this weekend.  Maybe.  The weather forecast isn't good, but that should not stop me.  The major obstacle to overcome is will.  Or the decided lack thereof.  Best case scenario is that I simply limit myself to one camera and lens and just go shoot.  That, however, would be a commitment, something I'd rather eschew.

I could just stay in bed and read.  The weather and my personal economy depress me.  I want to take a trip.  I want to buy a camera, a vespa.  Rather, I will go in debt to buy a roof.  The second roofer came out yesterday and called me last night to discuss some things he needed to know before he could give me the estimate.  From the sound of things, I would not bet on a lower number than the one I got for the first bid.  I was informed that a lot of my beautiful jasmine and my brand new awning would and could get damaged.  One step forward, one step back.

Meanwhile. . . the rain. . . .

Leica has a new instant film camera.  Fuji is making new instant film.  Instant film is more fun than digital, but it is expensive which makes you really think about what you want to photograph.  I am going to try making some very expensive instant images this weekend with the 8x10 camera.  I hope the new part I got for the processor works.  $19/sheet doesn't leave a lot of room for mistakes.  But it is old film from the studio days and not a recent purchase, so the investment is an old one.  Oh, I couldn't justify it now.

My friends are all traveling.  I don't know if I am being punished or tested.  But that is not true.  I know that it is neither.  Things just are.  We each in turn have our own deals.

Mine now is to prepare for the factory.  A day of occupying space, I think, as I have little to nothing on my agenda.  I will chafe against the minutes and the hours until I am set free.


Thursday, September 15, 2016

Holding On



The bill for the new awning came, but the roofer hasn't.  Said the rain was keeping him away.  Predicted rain.  It really hasn't.  But rain is in the forecast for the extended future.  I have needs.  I have bills.

I have a job at the factory, but the two things don't seem to be balancing out.  That puts me in the heart of the American debate.

And so Trump pulls ahead while the dems debates bathrooms.  It ain't working.  There is some strange myth on the left that Trump can't win.  When I site the polls to the ideological elite, they tell me there are other polls.  Really?

Fewer Hillary voters feel good about voting in the coming election than do Trump voters.  That should tell you something.

You can tell that I eschewed reading for a night.  I need to get my ostrich head back under the covers.  It is usually a mistake to opine.  It really is.  That is why I have only presented you with the FACTS.

With ever new discovery, the world is changing.  Some are born into it.  Some cannot keep up.  The magnetic poles are shifting, the earth is wobbling on its axis.  There is no holding still.  There is only holding on.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Ten Minutes to Spoil a Lyric




I have only ten minutes to write today's prose lyric.  Duty calls me elsewhere.  I lay in bed and thought about what to write this morning.  Now, all of that is gone without a trace.  It was some male thing.  After reading this morning about Chinese scientist raising cells fertilized with only a sperm (no egg), I was stunned.  I've been complaining for years that the Chinese have secret billion dollar labs where they are carrying out genetic research unhindered by silly moral clauses.  I am certain they are making kangaroo men to fight in the next ground war.  But they only announce the making of a male mouse using a sperm without an egg, a mouse who grew to adulthood and  and was able to biologically reproduce.  I don't know what that means, but it means something.  They have also fertilized cells with only eggs, but none of those have survived after birth.

After reading that, I watched some results of natural biology.  Hillary was wrong to call people "deplorable."  In public, that is.  In private, we all say things.  If you don't believe in "deplorables," though, watch this (link).  These are the people who favor law and order and higher education.  I know them well.  They are "my people."  I grew up with them.  I know the formula for making them.  I am like a Chinese scientist that way.  Yup.  Give me a baby and I can make one just like these.  It's easy.

I know how to make the other, too, the left wing nut.  I've watched my liberal friends make them for years.

I'm sure genetics has something to do with it, too.  Chromosomes are delicate things. Douse 'em with liquor.  Spice 'em with cocaine.  Marinate in hallucinogens and top with opioids.  Oh. . . don't forget the meth.  You want to give the thing a little kick.

And that is it--ten minutes of lyrical fun.  It is not really a lyric today, though, as I have managed to opine.  You spoil a lyric with opinion.  It turns into a Juvenalian satire. . . or something else.


Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Small Comfort



I'm finding that the smallest and subtlest of things now bring me the greatest pleasure.  I have lost the heroic impulse, I guess.  I read in Towles book last night a line about a character who seemed to have lost his passion for travel.  I read that in bed with a mug of hot tea beside me and wondered.  The juxtaposition of the man who has traveled widely and seen much and the young neophyte just beginning her explorations in the novel are archetypal, I guess.  We travel for different reasons at different times.

James Salter equated travel with the anticipation of romance and sex.  I understand what he meant.  It is not the actual thing itself but the possibility that something might change your life.  All travel, I opine, is meant to enhance our romantic quotient, to add more color to our plumes.  Listen to a fellow tell tales of his travels.

I once met a man who I remember as being near one hundred years old, though I am sure that is not accurate.  I was at someone's party, the family of my girlfriend.  It was boring.  I decided to talk to the old man who was left alone on a couch figuring if anyone there could tell some good stories, he could.

I was wrong.

He told me stories of singing for the church and of his travels with the choir.  He remembered the families he met quite well.  He seemed determined to disprove Salter's thesis.

I don't drink, and I don't screw, 
And I don't date boys who do.

Just remembered that from childhood.  Awful.

I won't be traveling for awhile.  The roofer gave me the estimate yesterday.  $13,000.  It is too much, but I don't know how much too much yet.  I have another fellow coming to give me a bid.  I wish I could go with the first company, though.  They've been in business for 57 years, a record for a roofing company here.  Most last fewer than ten.  It takes a lot to stay in the roofing business that long.

But I am now more than broke, broke being having no money.  I have less than no money now.  I despair of travel and of cameras of which there are many to desire just now.  And perhaps that is why I am finding pleasure in the simplest of things.  A book.  A cup of tea.  A small culinary delicacy.  The comfort of bed.  These are retreats, I guess, from the problems of our day and the troubles of our time.  It is an attempt to retreat from worry.

Perhaps I will wear a jacket to work today.  I love jackets with pockets in which to secret things.  A jacket is a bit of soft armor.  I shall, I think.  I feel the need.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Reading Against the Future



I am reading a book that disappoints me.  I liked the author's first book very much, but one novel does not a writer make, etc.  I think I just wanted him to write the same book over using a different scenario maybe, in which case it is the reader's fault and not the writer's.  It is probably a decent book.  I have spent two nights with it sipping mugs of hot tea, and there is a bit of comfort in that.  I really just want to read obsessively again, want to spend hours with words and phrases, characters and tones and atmospheres.  It is a dangerous retreat from a dangerous future.  I can't face the coming election and what will happen after.  The novel I am reading is set in Russia after the revolution when Bolsheviks came to power.  An aristocrat is sentenced to life in his hotel, the Metropol.  He watches as the old world gives rise to the new Soviet State.  He is befriended by a little girl whose father is part of the new regime.  The old and the new.  In the first part of the book, the author lets us descry the fall of the aristocracy, their beautiful manners and elegant life.  I have been sucked into it, too, though I think that this will change as the novel progresses.  We will begin to see things through the growing girl's eyes and the protagonist will as well.  My guess, anyway.  Towles may have other ideas, though, and that is a reason to keep reading.  I don't want to interrogate the text as I read, of course, but want to be swept along by the authorial magic.  And I am until I rest and think a bit.  Then my overactive brain begins cranking.  I enjoy both things, but I am enjoying being swept away just now a bit more.

The roofer comes in minutes to give me an estimate.  I must begin digging to see if I can discover some money.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Nature



I woke last night to a "thump" on the bedroom door.  I stayed awake for a minute listening to see what was next but began to drift off to sleep again when it sounded as if something had fallen off the bedside table.  I had visions of spooks but looking around the room and seeing nothing, I dismissed the noise and began to drift off once again.  Then there was a "thump" on the bed.  Too weird.  I could see that there was no one in the room, but I rolled over and turned on the light.  I looked around and saw that nothing had fallen from the nightstand and nothing was laying in the bed with me.  WTF?  Then I saw something on the floor.  What was it?  A mouse?  That would be bad.  I got up slowly and the thing leaped like a kangaroo.  A frog of considerable size.  Not a toad.  A big legged frog.  Harmless, I thought, and turned off the light and went back to sleep.

When I got up in the morning and went to the bathroom, he followed me, I guess.  There he was peaking around the corner of the cabinets.  I finished my business and got a towel to throw over him.  He was a wily one, but after a few minutes, I got him wrapped up and freed him to the wild world of nature.  He just sat there looking stunned.  I hoped he was o.k.

It might have been a she.  I have no idea.

Yesterday on a walk, I saw a big, orange moth as ugly as anything you have ever seen either being stung to death by a wasp or was giving live birth.  Moths don't give live birth, though, so I moved closer to the monster to better see.  It seemed the species of which I had been ignorant my entire life had radically different male and female forms.  The big, ugly orange thing was pulling a much, much smaller black thing with wings that was way up its butt.  Mating, I presumed.  It was jarring.

I am jittery this morning and tired.  I will go back to bed eventually.  Things are weird every way I turn.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Forever's Hero



Head over heart over hips.  I can't sit like that any more.  Not for long, anyway.  I am a mess.  It comes from trying to be somebody that God didn't intend for me to be--the Hero.  Or something.  It is my father's fault, of course, him and his entire generation.  They inculcated me with ideas of masculinity that won't, no matter how I try, be banished.

Maybe it is genetic.  What do I know.

Don't get me wrong.  Real men are allowed to lose.  They just have to take a really good beating in doing so.  There will always be stronger, faster men, but you have to try your best.

Playing with pain.  That was one of the mottos.

"Incredibly, with only one functional leg, Bronco broke free at the line and limped his way into the end zone for the game winning touchdown!"

What a man.  Someone to look up to.

I know its all bullshit.  I know, I know. . . and still. . . .

It hurts to touch my toes.  I have to work up to a twist.

I should have been a dancer.

Jab, jab, punch.  Jab, jab, punch.

One, two! One, two! And through and through 
 The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

I have been heroic and called a roofer.  He came and measured things while I was gone.  On Monday morning, I will sit down heroically with him and figure out the price.  I will be brave and eschew cowardice in our negotiations, and I will not cowtow to an unreasonable price.  

I will take a long, heroic walk this morning, and later today I will go with my friend to an Alehouse to watch a football game.  I do not watch football games and will not make it through this one in all likelihood, but my friend's nephew is starting his first game at fullback for a top five ranked NCAA football team.  He is a big, strong, fast kid who will block heroically and run the ball into huge linemen with all the manhood he has.  

To run forever and never grow old.  

Friday, September 9, 2016

To Float



People get excited here when the humidity drops.  They think it is evidence of autumn.  They are silly.  It is caused by a storm somewhere far from here that draws the humid air to it.  It will be back.  With a vengeance.

But for now. . . .

Write, delete, write, delete.

I prefer just looking out the window today.  The grass is green and the shadows are lovely.  That's all I have.  I just want to float.

Thursday, September 8, 2016

A Good Day to Die



I have so many plans in the mornings.  Then there is the factory, the gym, marketing, cooking, and sometimes I don't feel well.  And, at least sometimes, you must have company.

So many plans.  So little time.  So many things just don't get done.

Those are simply excuses, you know.  I watch people who do more.  The busier they are, the more they take on.  I've done that, too.

Leisure is wonderful, but leisure is death.

I just want to be a comfortable chipmunk cuddled up on the couch.

Curdled up on the couch.  There is a spoiling aspect to it.

F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald made a pact with one another that they would never be too tired to do something.

Of course, you see how that worked out.

Now, I wonder at how you read the last line.

They had short, tragic lives.

In that time, they accomplished more than you or I.

A fellow my age is dying.  He had a pre-memorial gathering at his house last night.  I wasn't on the list.  We weren't that close.  One of the attendees who was told me that the fellow's two biggest fears were outliving his money and dying alone.

Neither of those happened, I guess.

My old boss texted me last night with a question.  I told her about the dying fellow.  She already knew.  I told her about my discomfort concerning death.  She said that if she had lived my life, she would think any day was a good day to die.

I wasn't certain how to take that.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Illustrator and Artist



This is an illustration for an article on loneliness that I read in the N.Y. Times yesterday.  It is like a cross between an Edward Hopper and a Rockwell Kent.  The illustrator's name is Jon Krause.  I Googled him and was not disappointed.  He is my new favorite illustrator.  Except maybe for Amy Crehore.  I would like to own works by both.

Is being an illustrator less than being an artist?  Krause's website proclaims him both.  Rockwell Kent was both, but I think he was a better illustrator than artist.  One term implies more commerce, the other more serious intent.

I'll think on that.

I spoke with a man yesterday who has owned or has been a partner in several art galleries in L.A.  He saw two of my old large Polaroid analog/digital images and wants to introduce me to some current galleries.  We talked about the business of art for some time, me saying that I never had time for it but now that I don't have a studio and am not working at it night and day, I do, and that I should begin to send out some work.  My ideas about it seemed all wrong to him.  Maybe not wrong, but at least unconventional.  I am in many ways always my own biggest problem.  I just want to make pictures.  I would like to be able to afford to do it, but the commerce part is not my forte.  There is much work to be done and much disappointment to experience if I want to travel that mountain.  I am like too many others.  I just want somebody to look, say "Wow!", and make us both some money.

That ain't how it works.

He suggested some other ventures.

"Have you ever submitted your work to a competition?"

I have a dirty little secret.  I did, once.  It was an awful, cheap, and cheesy feeling.  I can't help but believe that the winners are known beforehand.  It is a rigged game, I think.

That is what all losers say.

Maybe I should try wedding photography.

Roof and cat are still problems.  First one thing, I guess, then the other.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

The Cat Puke of Life



Woke up hopeful.  No such luck.  Cat puked on the couch in the night.  It will stain.  No luck at all.  I have worse stories to tell, but I can't.

I read an article about loneliness in the N.Y. Times this morning.  Afflicts many people, especially the aged.  Scientist have located some neurotransmitters that are active at a location in the brain associated with depression.  I wonder if there might not be a drug for it.  My friend texted me this morning--alcohol.  I tried to find an antonym for loneliness.  None of them worked.  Is there an opposite state?  An online thesaurus suggested "unlonely," but my computer doesn't even acknowledge that as a word.

I don't remember ever being lonely.  Perhaps that is another affliction with which I will soon be plagued.

Free will has come under attack.  Psychology and neuroscience are showing that we are not in control of many of our reactions and decisions.  Philosophy, as we all along have known, is a sham.

I will begin researching roofers today.  There goes any hope of release and relaxation I might have harbored somewhere in the recesses of my being.

I never really wanted a cat.