Think this is A.I.? Think again. This is a photo I downloaded from a photography group called "Still Life." It is a light painting, something I have never tried. Usually, I associate light painting with images like this one by Paolo Roversi.
Not a fan. I love other Roversi photos, but not the light painting. It seems far too artificial, technical, and bizarre. But that still life. . . that's another thing. It truly does look like a painting.
So does this, but it ain't.
I want to try to do what the still life photographer did, but I have a big problem. When I arrange a still life, it isn't pretty. I don't know why I have such a hard time with it, but I do. It looks simple enough, but like a lot of things in life, I tend to fuck it up.
I just found out I fucked up a relationship with someone most important to me without ever knowing it. I mean, I could feel the chill, but I didn't know I had done something objectionable. It was, I have only just found out, something I wrote here on the blog. This is not the first time, I know. I've lost countless readers and friends for writing something to which they object. I have no idea who reads the blog unless they tell me, and then it is frustrating because I have to watch what I say. Even then, however, my insouciance is often seen to be a slight. I once lost a dear reader for using the word "retarded." Apparently, she had a daughter.
Selavy.
So it was only yesterday that I found out why I have been relegated to a chillier level of ardor. Pictures and writing have never caused me anything but trouble. I don't know why I continue.
Yes I do.
But I do know the trouble it causes me. And still, in spite of it all, I use words and images to my own detriment.
Q found out the trouble they will cause and wisely decided to pull the plug and enjoy a more placid life.
But me? I continue on in my less than amateurish way. Longevity has been my only real talent.
So let me be careful from here on and not write anything that will cause me to lose more. I haven't much left.
Let me be positive. Congratulations to all you anti-government people on both the left and right. We don't need no stinking government. But oh, wait. I think that is a misnomer. Mail deliverers may not get paid, nor people working at the VA, but the president and congress won't miss a paycheck and they can still do things to you you may not like. They will still pay the soldiers and the cops. I guess that is all the government we really need.
Just be thankful if your name isn't Pedro.
Why is it that everyone Trump appoints seems like a high school student at a talent show or debate contest. Take Karoline Leavitt. Wow! Apple doesn't even like the way she spells her name. It keeps autocorrecting me. But take her, anyway. And take her seriously if you can. I don't know how to do it. I've never seen anyone in a $180,000 a year job who seemed so silly. Or Hegseth. He's like a little boy playing army.
"This is how a soldier acts, mommy."
He was the one, I'm sure, who got all the younger kids in the neighborhood to be in his platoon and bullied them around the way he thought an officer would.
And of course there is J.D. Vance. He is just a bot. He will tell you all you need to know about how difficult it is to graduate with a Yale law degree. His best friend was a jr. college dropout who liked to pick fights with kids who hadn't dropped out yet. He was a moron. And there you go. Vance thought him a great intellect.
And of course, there is Trump himself.
If Harris had won the election, I would be dissing on her and her staff, I'm sure. But they didn't, and so we must turn our gaze and shout, "The King has no robe!"
I'm trying not to report on my daily life. I'll merely say that I may have been at my lowest point so far yesterday. I am no longer enamored with living. At this point, all I can do is numb myself until I find oblivion.
BUT. . . here's an idea.
The beginning of October means sobriety for some, but what happens to our bodies when we go teetotal for a month? Flic Everett shares her experience of temporary sobriety and speaks to experts about the benefits of taking a break for Sober October.
There's a big maybe. But. . . what about Octoberfest? I have the next few hours to consider it before cocktail hour.
Hour?
Could I stand the constant moaning and shouting out in pain if sober? Should I become a pothead?
But enough of that. You get my drift.
I have been trying to read here in my mother's house, but so far I have not been able to connect to the words. They don't enter me. They mean nothing. I know I am in bad shape when I've lost the ability to read. I've lost the ability to photograph and my ability to write is disintegrating like a sugar cube in a thunderstorm. Now this?
For Camus, the only philosophical question, or maybe just the first, was suicide. Why does a person, naked and surrounded by the meaningless void, go on? Why not step off the ledge?
He never really had to face the question. He did, of course, as all do, but he didn't. He died in a car crash at the age of 46. He was looking up instead of down at that point.
I'll ask my 93 year old suffering mother what the meaning of life is today. She'll surely have an uplifting message.
Don't know why I haven't thought of that until now.
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