I just love blurry, f'ed up pictures that show me something that I otherwise wouldn't see. When I come across them on a proof sheet (this was shot on film), I am drawn like a bear to honey. Unfortunately, my taste in images is not popularly shared. And maybe that is how it should be. Sometimes, not very often, I imagine a world where my vision is welcome, a world where I am understood and adored. It is as if the Beats had won the culture wars or that folk music scare had actually succeeded. Try to imagine a lifetime of "Hootenanny."
Some things are best left in the margins of history.
But the mainstream of American life has completely worn me down. Even the margins. I go to bed tired and wake up tired. I am confused. Why do gay people like Disney so much? It befuddles me. And why have they become so boring? Again, in tribute to Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, you can't out-weird America. They have become absorbed into the mainstream the way "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis" absorbed a sanitized version of beat culture through the character Maynard G. Krebs. I was going to give a link, but it isn't worth it. Watching any of it is awful. In a world where drag shows are the last vestiges of sexual femininity. . . well, I guess its no wonder they have become so popular.
Don't listen to me. I'm frustrated at having aged prematurely. I am living the 86 year old life. I am an angel. I am a saint. But not really. All I dream of is a vacation where I can run amuck. I want all that I can't have. I know now how boring the lives of saints can truly be without the opportunity to visit decadence and depravity. Just a visit, not permanent residence. Just a peak over the wall.
I feel something like Reinfield in "Bram Stoker's Dracula."
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