Today I had nothing that had to be done, and I guess I no longer know how to deal with that feeling because it's been very uncomfortable. Mostly I just feel lonely and my brain is still telling me I am less than a person. But what does it know? My other organs are better meters of my general state. My thoughts are n'importe-quoi.

The thought I've been having lately about photography is that, even after the image exists, it's not about the image. The idea of trying to make a particular picture is frightening and although I have something in my head when I pull the trigger it's with the opposite of a feeling of inevitability. When I say this to myself I have a sneaking suspicion that it is about the image, I'm just too chicken to admit that I care, so I talk up the randomness and subjectivity of perceiving reality instead of really trying to make something. Is this always going to be the beguiling(charming)(enchanting) and damning contradiction of taking pictures?

I did the entirety of my school reading for the next month last night (still not one for moderation, I guess. Also there's usually four or five times this much) and that may be the problem. Maybe the problem is that I am dying a little without conversation. Books don't count. (The opiate of the solitary.) I think in some ways I never really recovered from epistemology. I'm not good at not knowing, and it's jammed down my throat everywhere I turn.

Having said all that, I don't know how to wrap it up. There are no neatly packaged concepts here. Do write to me if you want to talk.

Beer Bottle

Blue Ridge

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