Thursday, July 6, 2017

The Perpetual Whine

Maybe I should simply quit posting photographs here.  I have a billion dollars worth of camera gear and can only take snapshots with my iPhone.  I can't even tell you why.  I'm under court orders not to discuss it.  Any discussion of the ban on camera use for anything other than family snapshots (and I'm allowed very little of that) could land me in a shitload of trouble.

Snapshot photography.

Twitter posts.

I am fucked.

It matters little right now.  The weather is so oppressive that all I want to do is sit under a fan and drink.  It is too hot for anything.  Yesterday after work, I rode my little Vespa to the store.  Even riding the Vespa was awful.  The air, so hot, so wet, is not refreshing at 35mph.  These are Burmese Days in an untextured land.  We await the terrible storms.

There is only one cure for anything, really--tremendous wealth.  It can make almost anything tolerable.  The Breakers, of course, is not peopled with tremendous wealth this time of year.  They are all in better weather.  We only got onto the island of Palm Beach because Trump was elsewhere.  The stores on Worth Avenue were knowingly closed.  The streets were empty but for the Abercrombie crowd in their typical cargo shorts and flip-flops.

I mean me.

I do not sleep well in the summer here.  My dreams are vivid and horrible, my body painfully restless.  At the Breakers, however, I slept long.  It is this life I live, I conclude, through which I suffer.

No photos.  No stories.  No sleep.  I am perpetually broke and now broken in body and spirit.

And now the perpetual whine.

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