Thinking To Sleep
The color slides I picked up today of the lady on top of yesterday's entry are as I thought: she's underexposed and I should have moved in closer. Still, they've made me decide to make changes, which numbers about sixty five. My sixty fifth decision to make changes, you understand, back lighting, get closer, that stuff. I really do occasionally want to stop this repetition. Maybe if I posted less often, took the time to trash and revise, but then, you know, that marks number four hundred and four of "post less often, trash and revise".
If I were more creative, more scandalous, I could get away with it. My "chicken shoes in the attic" gothic (lament), for example, where I turn rowdy and infamous, or the "orange chocolate sling shot accident" lament or the many times thought, but never quite written "granny ladies of the purple sage meet Buster Brown" magnum opus lamentum, set in Philadelphia sometime around Christmas. "Grendel" never worked. Somehow my heart wasn't in it, not sure why. So, here, on an air warm as blood Tuesday night in August (down by the lake), sitting, drifting, writing, thinking to sleep.
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