Winds from SE at 3 mph, humid

Posted: August 16, 2010 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Andy Goldsworthy de Young Crack

Image by mkorcuska via Flickr

He was visiting again, Sunday afternoon as they are trying to start a tradition which I don’t really mind , but it would not have occurred to me. he has this funny habit of crouching behind my chair and saying nothing. I look at him more to check who is behind me and he gives me a cherubic smile which lasts and lasts. I search his face for some unspoken communication and find nothing but the intense smile plastered on his face. he asks about my email, I’m shocked I don’t email people like this in the middle of the room, in the middle of the fucking afternoon, when people are all over the house. and tell him that I write shit. he looks lost and repeats you write shit, why? I tell him it is how I process shit, i write because things have an enormous array of levels and I prefer to not miss them, because it is just too much fun to be in many levels with my fellow humans. he has a friend, who is a professional fisherman, he says, like him, which he is not, he is just serious about how often he fishes and that his friend writes all the details about the level of the water, the weather, the bait, the lines, the temperature, the winds, the time of the day or night, with pencil in hand onto his small notebook he records all variables he can think of, including the outcome, that is, the number of resulting dead fishes, sizes, weight, type and uses afterwards, gifted, sold, eaten, photographed or not.. so I figured the dude needs prozac, right. he is fucking ocd and i try to explain that this is not what I do. I’m not cataloguing shit, I’m telling about intense shit, man  – stuff that is really happening while you are not really looking. from the edge like eating really hot champion oatmeal in the winter time in the south of brazil with the fucking wind howling outside the shuttered windows.  he looks perplexed and I can see his lips beginning to ask to read the stuff. yes, but you must not judge it. how else can I read it then, did you right about me and Carina? fuck, I’m definitely NOT emailing him the link. It would be less painful to see his blank eyes responding to my reading .  I have dropped a lot of good reading in the eyes of others that i wasn’t able to enjoy. with respect, mind you. but dropped nonetheless.  Some shit comes to life later on and I keep it in the back of my mind for a long time but I don’ t need to go back. like the book that Lhaish told me it was awesome and Sarah who bought two of my paintings, also said was her favorite book, so I started reading it but I couldn’t enjoy it. Much like sex without the orgasm, it had this undercurrent of tepid disappointment and boredom going on that I found it too painful to carry on so I marked where I stopped and I put it up having by now forgotten the title.  I can’t bring myself to send the link to Pamuka because I know he will not get it and worse of all, he will start asking me to explain my shit to his cherubic face!   so it is 80 degrees farenheit winds from SE at 3 mph, humid.. nothing caught, nothing lost, nothing photographed tonight, Pamuka!


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