Some days your daily pic is nothing new, nothing exciting. Just an old hand-made pot holder that used to be your great-grandmother’s that you hang in your kitchen because it’s beautiful.
by Leonard Cohen
The flood it is gathering
Soon it will move
Across every valley
Across every roof
The body will drown
And the soul will break loose
I write all this down
But I don’t have the proof
My pal Tamara was ever so kind enough to help me come up with a concept for today’s photo. I was all TELL ME WHAT TO PHOTOGRAPH PLEASE I AM OUT OF IDEAS. And she was all HANG ON I WILL SAVE YOUR ASS. And she said “April showers” and I took it literally and voila — one more day of this project in the can.
Heh. Can. Get it? Shower? Bathroom? Can?
The string broke again, and I fixed it with hot glue (not pictured). Again! HUZZAH!
My photos lately have been fairly uninspired. I’m not writing much. I feel a modest amount of guilt about this.
The world is big and full of problems and my lack of creative inspiration ain’t one of them.
My brain lately has been preoccupied with other more basic things — things so basic and earnest that everything else seems to shrink away like wax under a hot-air gun. There is no use trying to explain any of it. I am trying to stop the little mouse in my head from sprinting until the wheel sparks and collapses. I want the mouse to maybe skip the marathon and just sit down and watch some shitty TV for a while. Just relax and go with it.
Things are so bad and so good. Which is probably exactly how it should be.
And guess who thinks he owns it.
“I like the sun and all, but I want to be able to control it.”
That sentence came out of my mouth yesterday, so I bought and hung curtains for the first time in my life — no, really — and am looking so completely forward to deciding whether or not I want to wake up with sunshine punching me in the face tomorrow morning.
So far, the cats and I have an understanding that if they so much as scrape one errant claw over the curtain fabric, I will be forced to rip their claws out and make earrings of them. ON THEM, NOT ME.
I have not yet been able to make them sign anything, so I’m not exactly sure we have an agreement.
I’ve lived in this apartment for three years, and I’ve still got a bit of a puppy-love crush on my little Midtown building. I spend a lot of time taking pictures in and of it, really for no one else but myself, so that when I move on to another place (assuming that might ever happen), I’ll be able to remember every nook and cranny that this current life inhabits, for better or for worse. So much of myself is tied up in my atmosphere (when said atmosphere is bad, then it follows that I don’t feel so good), so I’m glad to be currently living in a place that pretty much suits my temperament and my tastes — a place that I’m happy just sitting around in. A place with sun-warmed floorboards and a dishwasher and a balcony and ceiling fans and really great water pressure and a cute-ass courtyard. Even if the kitchen’s tiny and gross (no amount of cleaning will ever get it clean) and there’s no room for anything, and the plumbing is old, and the stairs are narrow and twisty, and the radiators are obnoxiously loud, and there’s probably a ghost cat or two here, and when the weather is warm, random drunk people have loud, profane arguments out front. So what? It’s home and it’s mine alone and I love it.