Tag: photography
I love visiting the heap of scrap-metal on the docks because it is beautiful and fascinating, but it also fills me with a mixture of fear and guilt and dread, and I don’t know if that stems from the vague sense that the environment in general is doomed, or the worry that when the rise of the machines happens, they’re going to be justifiably mad about this.
Oh no pigeons.
It sometimes catches me by surprise that I actually live like this. Like some wood-burning, subsistence-farming, nature-bothering peasant recluse.
Turns out I’m pretty okay at it, except that I feel guilty about all the woodlice that presumably burn up in the fire, and I am still appalled by how everything dies in winter.
December 21st. The river’s high and the trees are stripped and the rocks are cold and the bones are clean.
three hours in which to play. early december.
Sound and colour and texture. Remembering how good it feels to go to a show and stand so close to the speakers that the vibrations make my sternum hum. Taking photos of almost everything but the band, colours so rich they burn behind my eyelids. Halloween night and everything’s loud and close. I’m warm and I’m drinking iced rum and I can feel every decibel shiver through my body and rattle in my kneecaps and I don’t need to think, I can’t think, I’m so glad I don’t have to fucking think.
