Look at the Picture, Ignore the Text

I wrote a piece last night that makes no sense this morning. My site has been acting up again.  I went back in the archives looking to see if I had posted a song before, and all the songs during a certain period were the last one I posted.  Later one, they were all the one I was wanting to post.  I don't know if it is YouTube, Google, or hackers, but I am beginning to agree with the Chinese. Ban the internet.  Don't let people do anything but read polemic tracts by governmental leaders.  Hours of Castro proselytizing.  Put an end to trash like this site, surely.

The people I work with say I have been an asshole lately.  I know it is true.  I feel it deep down in me.  It is not that I am one, but I feel a certain impatience and a great anxiety.  My timing is off.  I am like a skunk in the room.  Even my movements don't seem natural.  I seem destined to do the wrong thing.

I love the photograph I am posting today, but the model doesn't care for it or for many others from the shoot.  She does not like her face in the pictures, says they do not flatter her.  But it is strong and wicked, I think, and not her but something she portrayed for the shoot like an actress or a transformer.  If you saw her site, though, you would see that she posts glamor images that make her look like a top model.  Girl in a dress with a purse on a sunny day twirling in high heels.  I just wanted her to cast the Gypsy's Curse. The strength of her body and the draping of the garment and the intensity of her gaze make this image for me.  I wish so much that she liked it the way I do.

But if I told her that, it would come out all wrong and we would end up more disagreeable than disagreeing.  It is the star I am living under just now.  Usually when this happens, I just want to be alone.  But that is not how I feel recently.  And to not feel that way is a mistake.  I need to read some Bukowski, a man who could hole up for serious amounts of time.  Rather, however, I feel like reading all the Hunter Thompson books again and becoming a viper.  When I shut this site down, come look for me at The Viper Cafe.  It could well be the name of my next blog.

For all my ranting about it, I have not been able to go out walking.  I've walked away from nothing.  Perhaps I fear that is what I'd be walking to.  But it is simply time constraints and responsibilities that limit me.  I am becoming rigid with static energy, I think.  Stasis.  I am supercharged.  Or is it superannuated.  I'm unsure.  And that, I know, is an invitation to the harpies.