On Friday I realized I needed to get out and away from the apartment. Saturday afternoon I left with my backpack, camera and cash to have alone time. First thing I realized was my separation anxiety regarding Lee. Ended up calling her twice on my little trip.
Went to see my father then we drove back to his place, saw my mom, we talked for a bit and then I babysat their bichon frise while they went to church. My unnecessary babysitting involved taking him out to piddle then sitting on the back porch to read my newest Lovecraft anthology. I moved back indoors to read, they came home and when I finished the second tale it was high time to get back on the road again.
For old times sake I patronized the Union Plaza Diner on the notorious Route 22. While I ate my jumbo deluxe hamburger, all three quarters of a pound of beef, I found myself actually writing in one of the notebooks my father gave me before I left the house. Only got so far because the waiter kept hovering about my table while I engaged in post-meal lingering which made me feel awkward and anxious. In the back of my mind I could hear the other voice in my head being critical of my writing which led to a brief conversation. He argued that I'm not very good, the main character isn't well developed and right now the story's just an idea rather than a full-fledged tale. I argued it's a start and more than I've done in quite some time. He tried to convince me to show the work-in-progress to Lee. I am having a hard time standing firm with my previous stance to not show her until I felt it was done, warts and all.
Why?
I have a tendency to sit on my laurels, accepting half-assed work as something completed if complimented enough and not following through with my project. I know that His laughter would echo through the abandoned insane asylum, mocking me while I keep watch through the lonely night.
My travels brought me to my place of higher education where I never acquired a degree. Too bad there isn't such a beast as a college equivalancy diploma. I haunted the fine arts building, left some temporary graffiti then went back to the car to take photos which will be seen in the next section. Savvy readers will know to right-click and select 'view image' to see the full size rather than the standard 600x450 required by the manual of style here at heptapod.org.
Sometimes I wish I had a really good camera. All the pictures taken by this camera always end up blurry even if I leave it on a steady, stable surface without being touched by my elderly, palsy-wracked hands.
I'm trying to be artsy fartsy. One of the things I did when I was cutting my painting class back in 1993 and not hanging out at the Independent office was wander the campus. One night I came to the theater, saw Leah working the ticket booth, ended up talking to her every Tuesday around 8 p.m.. After a while it became awkward but I always looked forward to seeing her and pretending she liked me. What I was trying to convey was the haunting memory of those nights, how I'm a ghost of that estranged person from many years ago and how the ticket booth is now empty because Leah is in my life for good.
Old cartoon characters come home to roost.
In case you can't read this:
Cherry blossoms fall
We grow gray and old with time
Love is not a crime
Five, seven and five
It's what we call a haiku
Rhymes in the last two
BURMA SHAVE
One of the rags featured at my alma mater.
Lee says they're online and not dead trees.
The Verrazano Narrows bridge from the roof.
The Verrazano Narrows bridge from the roof with a blurry Sirius over it.
The houses hide the skyline, if you have keen eyes
then you'll make out the Empire State Building.
