So, I have a lot of pictures stashed away on various drives. I’ve taken a ton of pictures over the years. After I shoot, I download them onto the laptop and start going through them. I flag the best ones and then go ahead and do any editing I think needs to happen. Recently I started going through a lot of my recent shoots and some of the older ones, and started to discover photos that I had initially not chosen to post, but that I look at now and realize that there was something there or that I simply missed something the first time around. I’ve been slowly going through them and seeing what I can do with them. Here’re some of the results.
I walk by him a couple times every morning.
His office is off this tiny cramped hallway on the fifth floor of the building. The office itself looks tiny and cramped too. There’s enough room in it for a largish L-shaped desk and his chair. There’s a door to the hallway and then another door opposite, leading deeper into the building. When he sits at the desk, he’s sort of facing towards the door, a little off at an angle. I can’t see any sign of decoration on his desk. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t any, just that I can’t see it in the few moments as I walk by.
I’ve never seen him actually typing at his computer. He’s always wearing headphones. Not fancy earphones, but the kind that you’d find in the old language labs in high school. Beige and brown and awful. The cord is way too short and the way he sits, a little too far back from the desk, the cord from the headphones to the computer is pulled taut. It seems so awkward to me. His hands seem to always be in his lap, and I’ve never seen him move or sway or react to anything he may be hearing or seeing on the computer.
I am baffled.
I want to know more about him. Instead of finding out anything real about him, I am going to make his story up.
I left someone because you captured my attention. You were hot and had this confidence that I’d never really seen in anyone before. You were the first girl to have me spend the night. That was a bit of a trip.
I was not the catch that you deserved. You needed someone with a little more ambition than I had. Someone who knew where they were going, because you definitely knew where you were going. You had a plan. That plan did not include the guy you were sleeping with, who drank all your coffee and had no money. For some reason your parents loved me. I’m still at a lose as to why. They wanted you barefoot and pregnant and married. You wanted to continue with school and get out into the world.
From you I learned a couple things:
- Sexual chemistry is not enough. I wasn’t bringing anything else to the table, so we parted ways.
- I learned that there are things going on with boobs, that guys know nothing about. You had small to average sized breasts, but wore two sports bras at all times. You insisted that there be no movement at all as you moved around the world. I should add that this was way difficult for a guy who’d only ever had to help remove the standard hook and eye closures. I never understood it, but I’m, now, never surprised by what I find under clothing.
You were my first one night stand. You were my first older woman. I wish to god that I remembered your name; I do know that I could pick you out of a crowd though. You stand out among every other person I write about in this post and the previous post.
I was selling shoes in a store at St. Laurent and you worked at HMV (this is a movie and toy store that used to sell music). You were one of the first women I knew who wore their interest and sexuality proudly; and when you were intimate, you committed your whole self to it.
So what did I learn from you? Honestly, I learned several things that I have never forgotten. How to explain this properly… After we were done, sitting/lounging together in those close, sweaty moments afterwards, kissing and holding and a little spent, you said to me, between kisses “I want you to do that again.” Kiss. Caress. “This time, I want you to take your time, go slow.” That blew my fucking mind. You wanted to do it again?! But the real lesson sank in. There was no hurry. I knew that being inside you would be the end of me, so I had to figure how to not be inside you for as long as possible. That meant figuring out what to do instead. I fell back on previous lessons learned and decided that if I paid close attention to the details and to what you told be verbally and non-verbally, I’d be alright.
So to sum up, here’s what I got from you:
- There’s no hurry, we’ve got time.
- pay attention to the details and explore.
- do what I’m told
To be honest, you really had a lasting and incredible impact on me. Thank you.
You taught me that some people just don’t want to hear jokes when they’re going down on you. Thus the blow job ended and the relationship never started.
You taught me that I was better than him. You and I were never anything more than good friends. You were with my best friend, and I pined for you the entire time. Years later, you told me that we would absolutely ben together if I’d even made the smallest move in that direction. For a second, I was crazy mad when you told me that. I’d missed out on that opportunity? But I didn’t know!
But then I realized that you were telling me that I was, and always had been better than him; when it came to girls, I had always held him up as what I thought they wanted. It was a revelation that maybe, sometimes, I was what they’d want. I’ve kept that lesson since then.
You and I were never a couple and it was never meant to be that. We were friends and we managed to steal some amazing and intense moments together. From you, I’d say that if I didn’t learn an actual lesson, I refined things already learned: kiss how you want to be kissed. Sort a sexual golden rule. It seemed to work and you’d mentioned the kissing on several occasions. You reminded me of the difficulty in wanting what you can’t have, but also how much fun and intensity can come with that.
We were friends too though, and that can be fun and intense in it’s own way. With you , I had to also learn to accept what is, and to cherish what I had and have. The nice thing about friendship is that those moments aren’t stolen, they’re given.
You were unattainable. That was my first thought when I saw you. Out of my league. I like to think that I remember all of that first time I saw you, but more likely, it’s a combination of the many times I saw you around the time that we met. I’ll go to my grave, insisting that I remember exactly what you were wearing that first day: Giant thick sweater, jean jacket, dark grey tights, ten hole Doc’s and a short as hell plaid skirt.
You taught me that punching above my weight class was ok and maybe even a good idea. You taught me that getting drunk on our first date and then sloppily asking for a first kiss is totally not the way to go.
To be honest, if I listed all the things that I have learned from you, I don’t think I’d get much of a chance to stop writing. I thank you every day.
So, I’ve been out to Balaclava, ON several times over the summer. Each time I’ve been, I go and stand in front of this abandoned house, that’s sort of across the street from it, but I never go in. Yesterday, I went in. What a find. That place was creepy and amazing. Obviously, thanks again, to my friend for really turning me on to the exploration of abandoned and forgotten places.
There will be more pictures, I just couldn’t wait to post these.
I so want to share my opinion. When it comes down to it, I think, I started this blog with that in mind (or it was to impress the ladies.) I find myself ranting and raving about the stupidity I see in the world. I expend energy, day to day, trying to stamp out stupidity where I can. Or maybe I’m not actively stamping it out all. I might simply be observing it and then judging it and then feeling that I’m stamping it out by simply judging it. Does that sentence even make sense? My English teacher wifey will tell me and then I can edit it or not. I judge. I know it and I accept it. I form all kinds of initial impressions about people, based on everything about them; the things they say or do, the way they dress and walk all tell me something. I’m not foolish enough to think that I’m right in my impressions and I make it a point of always waiting to see. I might think that you look like a douchbag, but I promise not to treat you like a douchbag until you prove to me that you are one. Actually I don’t know how I treat douchbags as I generally try to avoid that kind of contact (douchbag is not officially classified as contagious but I’m not taking any chances.) Maybe that makes me a douchbag in some way. Maybe I’m maligning douchbags unfairly.
A while back, I was listening to CBC, and there was this call in show. It was a call in about vampires and monsters through the 19th and 20th centuries. People were being asked what monsters scared them the most and why, if they knew. I only caught a piece of the call in, but it got me thinking about it. I’m a fan of horror movies and I think I always have been, although I never did like the slasher films at all. I will admit to loving Nightmare on Elm St. even though it counts as a slasher film. Freddy was OK because he wasn’t silent. He taunted his victims and had that horrible sense of humour.
So, what scares me? Well, around grade five I saw An American Werewolf in London and The Thing. They scared the hell out of me. For the longest time, they were the bench mark for scary, as far as I was concerned. In my adult years, 28 Days Later has been added to the list as well. That one started off my love of the zombie genre. I love the Walking Dead too, even the ‘slow season’ that people complained about. There’s lots of horror out there to love, maybe there’ll be a list of my faves at the end of the post.
I started to think about what was it that made these ones scary, to me. Basically, I’m scared of people. Or maybe just what people can become. It doesn’t matter what the set up, in a zombie movie, is; at some point it’s the people who become the biggest threat. The zombies themselves are a very real and predictable threat. The survivors are the unpredictable, potentially violent ones. As a kid, I read Lord of the Flies. I know that this is a classic and I also know that it’s an excellent book. As a kid I liked it a bit, but not as much as I disliked it. I hated what became of those kids. I hated that they lost the things that made them civilized and human. I see and feel that every time I watch the Walking Dead. In 28 Days Later it’s the whole point. In the Thing, the characters, some of them anyways, actually turn into the monster; add to that the fear and paranoia and mistrust that occurs because of that and you’ve scared the shit out of me. I get really scared for “the people”. In American Werewolf in London, again the main character becomes the monster. Not really in the same way as in the other examples, but I never was scared of him. I was scared for him. What would the other people do to him? That made people the enemy again.
I’m starting to think that other people are the monster that scares me the most.
I didn’t know this when I was a kid. I think it took me a long time to figure it out, even through my twenties, I don’t think I had any real clue. I have a temper. A huge temper. I’ve been know to get angry. Really angry. My biggest problems, other than the actual temper, is it takes a lot for me to lose my temper and that the anger gets quelled pretty quickly.
I chose ‘contradictory’ as the title for this blog because, often, I see the other side of things and this really gets in the way of being angry. From angry, I loop around and end up on the other side of whatever issue I had, seeing all the reasons it might be the way that it is and why I shouldn’t really be angry in the first place. It really takes the wind out of my sails.
My biggest issue with this, is that sometimes I want to be angry. Desperately. I really want to be irrational about things, and stay irrational. Basically I have to go to a crazy place in order to be angry and stay angry. Kind of loose my shit basically.
This is sort of the final photo excursion of the summer. Next week it’s autumn. I’m sure I’ll get out again through the rest of the year, but this summer has been something special. I met my goal of shooting at least once a week and the results have been more than I could have hoped for.
More than I could have hoped for in a few ways actually. I lost touch with some people and reconnected with others; with summer’s end, I’ve reconnected with people from whom I’d drifted and I might drift away from others. Relationships with people, relationships with art, relationships with our passions and with ourselves seem to move a lot like the tides. In and out, away and close. The nice thing about this tidal comparison is that these things are never gone, just a little out of reach for a while.
Thank for a great summer and here’s looking forward.