born in america, as close to the south as you can get before entering dixie, gives you a deep understanding of “just the way things are.” people hunt, people fish around here. but they don’t do it for their groceries, they do it for furniture, for wall hangings, decor. they do it to put on the walls to show their prowess at taking the life of something. rooted, i assume, in they way we had to do it as we cleared the land, survived and built these societies, cities and burgs. men my age were spoon-fed cowboy movies, western-tomes where heroes wore white hats, shot to kill savages, food and those in black hats. guns and killing were a way of life. for food, for protection and for power. guns were part of the fabric of life in these movies, just as they were in households. we had a couple shotguns, even a couple pistols, my dad and my granddad were both veterans. my dad, a occasional rabbit hunter and all of us fishermen, for a few years i would say that i was a real angler, boats, expensive gear, the whole she-bang. there were no politics to these things. my family, if anything were hyper-liberals. that’s all i really knew. but i got older, i discovered things that opened my mind; art, visual and aural. punk rock and the ethos behind it led me to question some of these deep rooted notions of white and black hats, of killing things just for the “sport” of it and ultimately i questioned killing things to stock the shelves of the food markets.
i am now going on 33 years without meat. i don’t preach to others about much of this stuff. alas everything is now political, to each his own, but when the debate about freedoms involves old and tired arguments like, “that’s why cows were put on this earth” or “guns don’t kill, people do” i grow a bit antsy and begin to stand up a little straighter. when people tell me they love beef, the love pork, they love chicken, i can understand that, they don’t need a justification beyond that with me, same with those fried fish–same with their guns. hell, loving something is something.
but the gun lobby isn’t really honest, they don’t say they love their guns, they give you a bunch of horse shit about safety and protection and THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS! it isn’t about any of that, let’s talk the truth about guns. no one is coming to get yours, no one is saying you can’t have one, but your dishonesty about why you have them is what is bothersome. you love them, the same way you love brisket and bar-b-q and that 7 lb. bass on the wall. you don’t need any of that, you just love it. and that’s really america. we make things we love, a “right” and we use a bunch of fear and hyperbole to justify getting more of what we love. so when you say that having the same weapons that the military or the police have is your “right” we know it really isn’t and you really don’t believe it is. you want them for the status, that weird male itch of collecting something and the gun manufacturers figured that out and they marketed that notion to you and they used fear with a dash of “own the same killing machines and the good guys” and you fell, it wasn’t your fault. you love guns.
this mish-mash of triple exposure was snapped about a week before the boy went to college. sounds weird, college, this boy. the other boy already out of college and doing growed-up work but this boy, the baby boy at college…so yeah, here’s 3 clicks before that.
parking lot waiting
i’m really good at it
minutes, hours, Hell–
i’ve even slept in a few, shew, kewl
parking lot waiting
radio, video easy to
with a phone or
without, the windshield
is your screen
1:01 a.m. and my heart is fluttering
2 hours later and the dog’s nose is wet
but I’m no bet-ter
3:16 JOHN, not the Bible verse, just a bathroom,
cold floor relief
4, then it’s 5, then it’s six-oh-five and
I’m up, and alive.
my heart is fluttering
photo: East Bernard, TX, Holga, Ektachrome 400, dated 1994, cross-processed.
texas to me is a mishmash of things; butthole surfers, breakfast tacos, photo friends, heat beyond reproach, dumb politicians, pain teens, tobe hooper, chainsaw massacres, loudness and quiet moments and love, life, space, cherubs, emo’s, cheap peeks, odessa and grins.
you can see, be, say, do two things at once. doesn’t mean either of them will be the better for it. may actually be worse for it. but sometimes duality mumbles quietly…something(s) part of both that make a whole.
happy birthday to this guy. sixteen he is, sixteen, oh no, it can’t be. has it been that long? i think he was seven in this picture, maybe six, but definitely not eight yet. doesn’t matter. i’m old, these boys are getting old, boyhood has escaped all of us involved. what happened to youth…mine anyway?
so yes, what a boy this boy has become. a young man indeed. so proud of what he does daily, the discipline, the insight to life, the empathy. i’m biased but he is one helluva kid. seriously, he has his own way of carrying himself that denotes a maturity that i’m not even sure i have. so, yeah, proud. pop.
so happy birthday, my boy #2. i hope i am around for about fifty more of these. my love to you always.
weird at times, how images appear, then disappear just as quickly. one click of the shutter, usually hurried, shaky, not as sharp as you would like–but there… too far away, wrong camera but you still try to grab it before it’s gone, one frame on a roll of 12 then on to something else. just capture the here, now, if you can. and, you can.