The Water Is Gasping For Your Mouth
Laura Veirs can turn a phrase. Her new album is great.
This summer I tangled with depression for the first time in a few years. I mean, I’ve had ups and downs, but a couple of weeks ago I was lying on the floor being kicked in the ribs and told to “stay down!” My friends and family did what they could to pull it off of me, but at some point you need to spit out a mouthful of blood and crawl to your feet on your own. The end of August is now officially vacation time.
You might think that dropping my grand schemes for an art minor was just a symptom — that irrational thinking led me down that path. No, wanting to give away all of my stuff and fly off of a bridge was a symptom.
On to the art minor… the ultimate question that I have to answer is this: “where do I want to take photography?” Ideally, I’d like to be Lee Friedlander or Martin Parr. Since that is not going to happen, I’d rather just keep doing what I have been doing. I want to take excellent photos for the web. I don’t have a lot of urge to hang six foot prints in a show so 500 people can walk past them once on the opening night, and another dozen over the next few weeks before they are pulled down and burned.
Look! It’s the door to my apartment, 400 pixels tall.
Look! It’s my coffee table, smeared with the ephemera that I haven’t brought myself to throw away yet. I bought the binoculars when I was a kid for bird watching that I never did. My mom just bought me the Kafka book, possible to atone for her imagined sin of giving me Metamorphosis to read when I was but a wee lad. She thinks that was a bad thing. Maybe she also thinks that my “dark pool of imagination” is not only her fault, but also a burden. It’s neither, thank you.
Look! It’s Sarah and Chandler photographing Chandler’s wonderful handmade book. Chandler refers to Sarah’s skirt as “the salad skirt.” I never comment. Interestingly, they were using the modeling lights instead of the flash slaves.
Look! It’s “a man in a robe” being orally serviced! I think he’s being a little rough, but from the looks of it, he’s putting on “a show,” so maybe his friend likes it that way.
See? You missed my irreverent humor.
Sarah! I like her new shirt, but not as much as I like seeing her smile.
This one Sarah took. It shows me about to stab myself in the heart while working on my final project for the photo class. My final grade was a B+. It’s my blood type and will probably be my motto, just because it’s so ridiculous. I’m not actually about to stab myself — that’s a bone folder. You heard me. I dare you to keep a straight face while I say it to you: bone folder. Bone folder.
I mentioned to Dani the other day that I used to work on multi-million dollar mainframe projects at TCF. She was shocked that I had ever been responsible. I used to wear a tie, get my hair cut, and shave, too!
That was until you threatened the TCF people with your bone folder. Now it’s all over for you.
Holy shit, that’s right. You had your own office and underlings. Two funny words that are funnier together: bone folder and underlings.
Glad you’re feeling better.
What can I say? I loved Kafta. I thought Metamorphosis was a hoot and a mind fuck. Hey, you were 10 years old. I wanted you to have insight into other thinking styles that those presented by Fort Dodge elementary school reading lists. In retrospect, I think Metamorphosis was much less damaging that Lutheran confirmation classes and probably a lot more enlightening, eh?
Besides, in some countries you would be working a full-time job to support your extended family of 26 people by the age of 10, so you’d definitely be considered a grown-up.
Mom, you’re the only one who has expressed any issue with Kafka, not me. You don’t have to convince me. It was not damaging at all. Stop worrying about it.
Hey, I wanted to give away all my stuff and jump off a bridge this summer too? Wow!
It’s a small world.
Why am I always apologizing? You’re right, I’ll stop worrying about it and be proud that I had such impeccable taste in literature!