Coincidence Over Metaphor.
it has been one of the darkest weeks that i can remember.
the other day i took an image of myself in my apartment in a direct beam of sunlight. direct sunlight or any daylight at all never enters my apartment, but the other day, a little sliver did. it wasn’t reflected, it didn’t bounce off anything, it was direct, i checked. i can only remember this happening once before, around the same time of year, but years ago.
the other day i saw a photograph in a book at a book store, in the picture i believed it to be an old love, wearing something i had given her. if this was true, it would mean that during the time many years ago that we were together, the truth of what i was told and what was actually happening weren’t connected. i made the mistake of asking and then the mistake of it possibly not being her in the photograph in the first place.
then today i had the cruelest conversation happen to me on the telephone, from the sweetest person i have ever met. even if i stretch my brain to understand why, it doesn’t change how it felt, i did my best, it wasn’t enough.
3 random events in one week and my life is on a path i don’t want and i cannot do anything about it to get it back.
i didn’t realize this till writing this, but i am reminded of the first photo assignment i ever had.
– make a self portrait, the artist as a young man, “invented by belief; each the author and hero of a real dream by which our own courage and cunning are tested and tried; so that we may wonder all over again what is veritable and inevitable and possible and what it is to become whoever we may be.” – that was my assignment, literally, exactly as worded by the 1st the professor i ever had.
this is my 413 story in 353 days here or 817 in 725 days total including the old site. i started thinking one a day, or at least that average, then the past few months, it became simply making a story better then the previous one or at the very least, make it the best effort i could on any given day on whatever was important to me in the moment because of simply how it felt to make something.