looking up looking down

Whether you know it or not, my family has a small breakfast restaurant…the menial labor which I perform there is how I maintain my paltry excuse for a life [it certainly isn’t photography at this juncture] …after the rush today, I was on my hands and knees just inside of our doorway scraping some egg that someone had dropped a few hours previous from the carpet…the restaurant was empty and as I set myself to this vile task I began to think about what I was doing…at first, my ego gnawed at me and I asked myself “what kind of man would do this for a living?”…well, I don’t do much living anyway, and I have always loved the way that seemingly thoughtless “grunt” work frees up my mind to think of other things…I began to think about the chemistry of the egg-carpet bond…good lord, its strong!...the proteins of the egg and the nylon of the carpet fiber are extremely similar in their chemical structure…perhaps that was why this mess was absorbing so much of my time… I considered the physics of the situation, how the energy associated with the lateral force of the scraper must exceed the energy of the chemical bonds between the polymeric structures of the protein and the carpet…the tourist-shaped shadows that flashed across the mess from the sidewalk just outside forced me to ponder the part that each photon of sunlight played in strengthening the egg-carpet bond...i began to think of the endless toil of sisyphus, and camus’ assertion that he was a happy man not in spite of his labor, but because of it…one of the shadows paused and lingered on the egg mess…I became aware of a very expensive pair of birkenstocks housing beautifully manicured male toenails giving me audience…the sandals were connected to something that, at first, appeared to be a man…he was wearing one of those expensive baseball caps with the miniature belt buckle in the back…on it was written the name of some obscure vacation paradise that only a select few could afford to experience…as the man looked down at me and offered a stodgy and condescending squint of pity, I could feel the single, lonely thought in his mind…it gave him the illusion of power and he felt himself a better man for it….from my lowly position my mind was still moving, thinking a multitude of ethereal and esoteric thoughts to  the single mundane decree of his mind…As i looked up at him, i looked back down at him with a different brand of pity…i think he felt it….he frowned at his now less-than-satisfying shoes, and walked along…

the slings and arrows never felt better

I spent part of my weekend under a tent by a sidewalk, trying to sell my pictures to drunk people that walked by…suffering the slings and arrows as it were….technically known as “fruit-standing”…I live in Geneva-on- the-lake ohio…it’s a tiny little resort town devoid of any culture save that of drinking ad vomitus…there are about 13 bars in a quarter mile…a perfect environment to find those seeking “art” to hang above the couch, right?...perhaps not…ive been doing this off and on for the past two summers and have found that selling pictures in a place where people come to get shitty drunk, is like selling toilet paper at a funeral…people will purchase it…its just not a good time right now…I still do it…my best effort looks like 20hrs without food then two bottles of liquid marketing campaign... I sometimes end up drunk and obnoxious…last night for example…I really enjoy saying outrageous things to strangers when I find myself in that state…I call it “what does it take to get punched in the nose?”…surprisingly, a lot more than you would think…if you say it fast enough and with the proper amount of alcohol to lubricate the words as they come out…...it is a truly exhilarating experience to insult a man twice your size well past the point at which you thought you would need cosmetic surgery and get away with it [by the way, most real men ARE twice my size or better]…of course I only sold three pictures but let me assure you, I feel damn good about the sales that I made…after what they put up with from my drunken ass, those poor bastards must have really loved my pictures a lot to still hand me money…I almost made enough to cover what I spent on the marketing campaign…

the eagle

as is my ritual, i was sitting on a hill by the lake this morning (enhancing my brain chemistry)...there were many seagulls...enjoying their own company...alone and staring into the great "god-knows-what" of a lake erie sunrise, i couldn't help but wonder why they found themselves so in need of each others company...just then, an eagle appeared out of the east...it was huge...in my solitude i marked its relationship to this alien flock...relaxing in the thoughtless comfort and shelter of their social structure...as the eagle flew by, it momentarily glanced down at the group to which it would never belong.......it turned its head back to its singular destination....and flew on...alone...

the homely prostitute

so....i have been a photographer for almost 10 yrs now...at the end of last summer, i began dabbling in selling my pictures...i had never even thought to sell them...for me, taking, processing and printing photos was just another way to keep from dwelling on the obvious inevitability of life (especially mine)...but after many thousands of dollars wasted on torn up photos and boxes of pictures left to rot in the closet, i decided (at the near-violent insistence of family and friends) that it was time to give it a genuine effort...  so here i am...i bought a website, spent more money, and...we shall see......i have always been reticent about selling something so personal to me...its not the sentimentality...i suppose its just run-of-the-mill cowardice...you see, i always believed that just because i loved the images that i was producing, was no guarantee that they would be loved by others...i felt like a hideously deformed prostitute with an extremely visible case of psoriasis...who could ever love this dreck that i was peddling?...how could they pay money for something that i (incredibly enlightened and vastly intelligent as i obviously am) considered to be just a disgusting sticky residue of my unceasing angst and depression...i saw myself walking around on the corner of E.55th and Prospect, shaking my filth at anyone who drove by...good lord...is that really me?...well, go figure...some people actually like this shit enough to buy it...who'd-a-thunk-it?...so now, here i am, up to my ankles (head first) in the shameless pimping of what passes for my soul...oh, well...whats the worst that could happen?...social acceptance...dear god!