Hey now! Trump has outed all the closet fascist in his party; or rather, the tape of his pandering to Georgia's Secretary of State has. It will be alright, though. He's going to sue someone for illegally taping his conversation. That should bring Republicans like Ted Cruz great relief. Trump isn't guilty of anything here. It is clear that over half the country is involved in this coverup of the stolen election. I mean really, now--who's fucking who?
To me it has become undeniably obvious that Republicans hate democracy and they hate the United States of America. They are greed heads whose only pleasures come from fucking somebody else. Well. . . I guess that is an integral part of fucking. My bad. Raping may be the word I'm seeking. Yes, that seems to be it.
Did you know Ted Cruz's wife was an ugly pig and his father killed Kennedy? Trump told me. Remember? Old Ted is proving that he likes it a little rough. No tickling the balls for him. Straight ball gag and leather restraints. He's a real sub, that Ted.
And Little Marco? Where is he in all of this?
McConnell is still trying to clean himself after his enema tragedy. The poor schmuck can barely find his vagina.
There. I'm done. All the wrongs the Woke can commit will never make these assholes right. I find it impossible to go along with anyone, you know, but I feel better in a roomful of lefties when the fascist start rolling through the streets. I think I'll watch "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" tonight. Even libertines can fall on the right side of things.
So, the photo. . . agony or ecstasy? I've always felt that in some way the two are inextricably intertwined. There is pain in pleasure though I don't hold with the opposite which would frame my philosophy that there is pain in everything. There is an element of that even in religious ecstasy, no? Hasn't that been the predominant theme since The Fall? Adam and Eve and the Garden and the fate of human happiness through redemption?
For many of the faithful, today begins the new prohibition. Starting on a Friday just didn't make sense, and I am with them. I will join my more committed brethren in abstention again today. I got an early jump on them, so we should be about equal now. Yup, that's it--no more sex for me.
Wait? Isn't that what we were talking about?
I often now have dreams of women. They are always young and pretty. I know. Something is wrong with me, right? I did dream of my first love the other night, however, and she was a grown woman and not a kid. See. . . I'm o.k. Don't cancel me.
But I think I look like that photo while I sleep.
The morning is southern cold. Mr. Fixit was going to come today, but I texted him that I was being Covid careful, so he decided not to come until next week. I am relieved. It would be too awful to get the disease just before I get immunized. My mother is truly happy that she will get to go to church and to the gym again. She wants to go to McDonalds in the mornings for coffee with the old people, too. There is a bit of a bounce in her step once more. It is a great relief to me.
I want to make pictures. Real pictures. Purposeful pictures. Pictures with intent. Everyone has abandoned anything that might get them cancelled or in some sort of trouble. Artist have the Woke religion now and want to show they are good members of the community. I don't want to claim to have the inside skinny on what art is, but I know it needs to be more than pretty and a great distance from safe. It should make you wonder about your assumptions and beliefs. The moment it begins to reify them, it ceases to function as art. There is a loneliness in art that is transmissible. There is alienation. But in speaking to those things, it palliates them, too, and there is a recognition and a momentary relief.
That is what I think, anyway. Pictures of old filling stations may bring us pleasure, but it brings us no relief.
But fuck it. If I can make photos of old filling stations right now, I'll take that, as long as they look like something out of Hopper. But what I really want to photograph. . . well. . . we shall see.