“The water has vanished. Daily life is disrupted. I can’t go to the bathroom, or shower. Waves of stink rise from my body like undead soldiers. To get a drink of water I have to trek to a building. I must pause before trying to wash my hands or brush my teeth. If something as substantial as water is missing nothing is assured. I have even begun to question the laws of physics. Before walking out of my room this morning I stepped gingerly outside questioning whether gravity would work.”
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During the three weeks I spent with Lensflare, I often wondered
where he'd left his crown of thorns and crucifix. I'm finally done
with him and have been soaking my sympathy muscles in hot water as
I stare at the TV. To hell with journalism. I didn't work my way up from copyboy to nursemaid a shutter-clicker. One morning he was lying on his bed, talking in his fake French accent about the "poor, poor state of the art market" being corrupted by "the Britney Spears, the Hootie, and the superbowlgouise." I heard myself say "That is so true." Well, that was it. I'd had all I can take and I can't take no more. You take it. Take it all. Take his story about how bloody hard it is to have a job on the Promenade in Los Angeles. I'm off to do laundry. If there is a God he wil come down from heaven and help get the stench of Clove cigarettes out of my shirts. Here are some of his photos and what he said about them. Enjoy. If you need to see more of them go ahead. No one's stopping you. | |
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This is a love story. Two American, apple pie and cheese kids
who have their first date. The boy is eager, the girl is shy- like
a little bird. He brings her a flower. They drink alcohol and dance. They talk about McDonalds and Captain Crunch. It is very simple, you think. But like America everything is set to crack. |  |
| This man is scary. He chases me like a rhino. Go rhino, Go. |
| I'm the digital father of these children. The hopelessness of these binary mendicants trying to suckle silicon teats bends me with anger. I too starve in my loft apartment making do with stale bread and wine crushed by my own feet. |  |
| Photography is like music. I often listen while I work. I told this model, "I want you to pose like you are in the key of 'G.'" |
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This
is not a photo but a drawing. It was done by my brother who is
stuck in the 19th century. "Come try a telephone. Try a
camera" I tell him.
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