I'm groggy and slow this morning. I was up all night searching through the trove of Epstein files that were released late in the evening. How about you? Did you find those nude photographs Ms. Farmer famously took of her 12 and 16 year old sisters? It was for one of her art projects. She has claimed for years that Epstein stole them from her, and now the released files show that she had reported this to the FBI in the '90s and they did nothing about it. See? Ms. Farmer's interest was merely artistic. Epstein's, on the other hand. . . . Art allows what the rest of the world can only desire.
Oh, my senses have been stripped, and my hands can't feel to grip
And my toes too numb to step
What I DID find in the released Epstein files, however, were pictures. . . not of anything juicy or lustful, but of recognizable people. Guilty by association? Surely. Why would Epstein and Jizzlane have photos of famous people if they weren't schtupping babies? Anyone who was pictured should be imprisoned now.
Except the president. He kicked Epstein to the curb. He wasn't like the others. He's our friend.
The new revelations would be shocking if the files corroborated what many of his critics say, that Epstein and his co-conspirators were having sex with children. These were the victims and survivors. I've had to change my mind about everything because I looked up the definition of a "child." Whoa, my man. "She's too cute to be a minute over seventeen" is one thing, but having sex with pre-pubescent girls is another thing altogether. Christ--girls younger than eleven or twelve? I've been on the wrong side of this discussion.
Is it true?
Didn't see that in the released files.
But yea. . . I got caught up in the National Obsession. I think this bears repeating.
My mother is up now which has sobered me a bit. What the fuck did I just write? Oh, well. . . let's move on.
I sent a few of the studio shoot pics to some women I know. They red hearted them. I was going to use a red heart emoji here, but lo and behold--Blogger does not have a red heart emoji. It has lots of heart emojis, but not a red one. Now what is up with that? I'm onto another conspiracy theory here.
O.K. I just used The Google. It is because my fucking Mac won't update to the latest OS. Or at least that is what Chat tells me. . . but you know who owns Chat, right? No, no, this doesn't squelch my conspiracy theory at all.
So. . . they hearted them. And T himself sent a more enthusiastic message. So. . . I was almost tempted to post one here, but I still want to wait to see the stuff JP puts out. I AM disappointed with my own pics still. I don't think I took 50 pictures as opposed to what I will assume are 1,000 or more that JP will have taken. I don't really have a lot to choose from.
Here's the thing, though. The photos are very different for me, and I think they look like commercial photography. Red is sending them to an old art school chum of hers who is a Architectural Digest photographer. My media chum in Miami wants me to make more photos of her. Etc.
I think I could do it. So why do I not?
I realized just yesterday that I don't want to meet anyone's expectations. I don't want to shoot to please anyone else. I just want to please myself. That's the only reason I do it. And I often, most often, disappoint myself. So why would I want to avoid disappointing others?
Yup. I do it for myself.
That is not to say that I don't want the approbation of others. I certainly do. I like it as much or more than anybody else. But I react terribly to disapprobation. I can't stand rejection. I fear it like a baby rabbit fears a hawk.
Which is why I've never asked a woman out on a date.
One last thing before I go. I don't want you to think this blog is a biography. I know, but the relationship between the author and the character C.S. is equivalent to Bukowski's relationship to Chinaski, or Houellebecq's relation to the eponymous character of the same name. Some things are based on life experience, but much of it is a creation for entertainment or "artistic" purposes.
Just sayin'.
The author is much duller and dumber, if you can even believe that.
I'm falling asleep sitting up, but my mother is creeping and creaking around the house now and I have to make her breakfast, so I won't bother you with my retelling of my day and night. If you find anything lascivious in your perusing of the Epstein files, let me know. But I doubt you will. All we will ever see are the expunged and expurgated versions.
"You want the truth? You couldn't stand the truth!"If you want to see the real thing. . . well. . . there is always the mirror 🤯!
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