Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Who Doesn't Like That?

I swear, pictures are coming.  Old ones.  I've spent days now going through them.  Not actually "going through," but putting them into files and folders.  And I have a confession to make--I've been a real mediocre photographer.  I tell myself (because I have to or drown) that probably everyone feels that way when they go through a lifetime of "work."  I mean, there are a lot of shitty pictures.  I like some of them because they are full of meaning to me.  But I've been pitching many.  I will hold a photo of a building or a tree and wonder what the fuck that is.  Of course, I should have culled them long, long ago.

I asked the people at the photo store yesterday what they do with all their negatives and photos (most of them shoot film).  They are young, though, so they may only have bags full of stuff.

I came home and threw away all the negatives I've gotten back recently.  There wasn't a decent picture in the bunch.

It felt good.

I will, however, be at the scanner for months.

I have been putting millions of prints from plastic containers into the new flat files.  There is a lot of junk there, too, that I need to get rid of, but it is difficult to throw away a 32" print.  It really is.

But I will need to.

Will I be able to do that with my tubs full of old writing as well?  I need to, especially the jejune writings from college and just beyond.

Or I can just wait until I die.  It will all go to the garbage heap.

I read an article today in the N.Y. Times that reifies my belief in solitude (not that it needed any reification).  It is good for you.  I know people of the other sort, the kind who must fill their empty hours in the company of other people.  I've never understood it, so I try not to say too much about it, but, really, it fairly freaks me out.  I've always figured that solitude is what we have (link).

I love my time alone.

I've been writing some things about the gym, but I can't bring myself to publish them here.  It is difficult for me to write the horrible descriptions of people I must if the writing is to have any interest or teeth.

Plus. . . I get scared.

And so today a picture of a Parisian ice cream cone.  Who doesn't like that?

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