It’s 28°C outside. It’s hot, but there isn’t a touch of humidity in the air. I can’t help but take my time. I’m supposed to be thinking of where I’m going, what I’m doing, but it’s too nice out. Another beautiful summer day.
And no one to share it with.
Today I woke up and felt uneasy, reminding me that I’m human.
Tonight I read that People who lived through Yenan remembered seeing caves in valleys crammed with people, “many of whom had gone mad. Some were laughing wildly, some crying” and I felt disillusioned, reminding me that human comprehension is limited by the human mind.
Tonight she put her hands on another man, I was summarily dismissed from the group, and it made me jealous, reminding me that I’m alive.
Tonight I sat on a rickety wooden bench and fingered the yin-yang engraved in the middle, reminding me that it’s all part of the Way.
They’re out now, the lot of them. Out-of-towners who drove five hours to celebrate with one of their own. People I haven’t seen in years. Seven maybe? God, I feel old. I’ve known a few of them since grade three.
But bar hopping isn’t my scene. There’s also this dull, nagging headache from staying up yesterday into the early morning. Catching up like old times. I’m reminded of the sleepovers. Summers putting on plays and learning how to make piñatas at Camp Creative. Catching minnows and crayfish in the streams back home.
I’m a different person now though. I was a different person from them then even. I never really fit in the group.
Sometimes I look at the pictures of their trips and events and I think to myself, “I wish I was more social. I wish I had more memories.”
I have to hermitize or I get overstimulated. It took me until my early twenties to come out of my shell. Then I think of the parties I’ve been to, the times I’ve had, the pictures I’ve taken, and realize that I do have memories.
I have enough.
I have my own.
Puddles was the sole survivor of a litter of puppies left in the cold of Canadian winter, because the owner didn’t want to keep them. He stayed alive by burying himself under his mothers body to stay warm. At a couple weeks old he was taken to his new and permanent home, where he’s lived for over 13 years.
Puddles is currently suffering from allergies (he’s chewed through his fur), arthritis, and severe diabetes. He can’t even make it up the front steps without the momentum of a run. Once a healthy 110 pound dog, he now weighs 88lbs.
I was commissioned to take some pictures of him with the kids before he passes.
In return, I was offered dinner; a savoury pasta with tiger shrimp and lemon zest, along with apple crisp for dessert. All made from scratch.
This was a small exercise in shooting RAW (used for about half the shots). It’s great to not worry about white balance and to have an extra stop exposure adjustment, but I still find that getting the processing right is a bit tricky.
Fresh vegetables and peanut butter on burgers. A low-key deal before leaving. I’m lucky enough to be one of the few.
It’s madness outside. Madness at the stops. Madness on the bus. People rowdy, drunk and drinking. People wearing Canadian, drinking Canadian, speaking Canadian, bearing the standard on cheeks and arms and hats and bodies. Kids, kids throwing beer bottles out the window, pouring Smirnoff ice in their empty water containers.
It’s passed midnight, darkness out the window, and reflections press themselves on me. She looks through me at him and I can see the love triangle in her smile.
Ambulances pass us by. People face-down on the ground. Police questioning witnesses.
Looking for some calm in this chaos, I turn up the volume to drown them out.
you’ve got the lot to burn
a shelve of pig smotherd cries
is there a spirit that spits
upon the exit of signs?is anybody there? (spines in a row)
these steps keep on growing long (spite as an arrow)
bayonet trials rust propellers awaitno
nobody is heard
But my calm is no less chaotic.