My love forever

近年段々冷夏になってた感じがします。

でも相変わらず、夏です。ビーチへ行ったり、野球試合を見たり、都心にぶらぶら歩いて考えます。

何回もそのピリッとした気持ちを経験すると、活動は擦り切れたレーザーのような、柔軟になります。活動は古い友達で、哀れみ深い。一千回早稲田大学までのんびり乗る。青島ビンに結露が生じて、歩道のひびを見詰める。

ああ、夏…僕らは一生にお互いを飽きれない。

Nothing but summer

“Is everyone having fun?!”
“Yeaaaahh!!!”
“Is everyone drinking beer?!”
“YEEEEAAHHHH!!!”

I’m selfish in the sense that I make most of my decision based on how much they conform to any number of ideas I carry like crosses inside of myself. But they don’t involve the maiming of others or the environment so I usually call it a wash.

Summer used to be a communal thing, when I still in community structure like school. But since graduation summer has been a constant love affair between the season and myself only. I go to the beach as much as possible annually, about half a dozen times. It’s like skiing but even more powerful in that th ebeach is a state of being, not just an action. I probably have too much of my Uncle Al’s blood in me that I couldn’t be happier than witha six pack of beer and the sound of the ocean breeze. The sand, the sharp shadows on my blanket. No matter what is going on any where else, the summer is the beach is youth. These are the times we celebrate life en masse. In the the surf and at the shore, it is a golden beacon of good feeling that covers even a larger population and history than raving.

The beach boys set the mood and bring the energy up of arrival at the beach and Jimmy Buffet is the sweet catalyst through the peak of my buzz at the beach. I instantly remember Beach Week, and the Myrtle Beach Chapter of No Ma’am, founded with Ryan and Ken over a pitcher of pina coladas. Why

Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw? Yes, I laugh and roll over welcoming my parrothead priest to the party six thousand miles away.

A Sailor Looks at Forty and the beachers in front of me squeal with the coming of the tide. I’ll have to move back eventually, but for now, “Yes, I am a pirate.”

Just another trendy hack

Recently I’ve been going over sites looking for for Photoshop コツ while playing with CS2, and it’s sobering at times to find photos that look a lot like mine in terms of processing. Though I’ve been getting decent mileage out of levels and unsharp mask, Eliot Shepard has it down to a science. The Slower atn he provides on his site boxes up the basic elements to fuss with into one cascade of dialogs.

Which shot do _you_ like better? Check out the incredible detail that emerges in the water droplets (enlargements here and here).

This sort of thing is gradually getting wired into the firmware for digital cameras (5D, cough) making it even more mainstream for people to have punchy contrast and crisp edges in their tailgate and dog show photos. Ultimately what this means is I need to start getting a lot more creative with composition, or give up enough of my life to be one of those full-time guys that has a digital SLR body grafted onto his hand to find offbeat subjects. Being an engineer with a hunk of debt I’ll go the former and ultimately have to lean more on artistry than technique.

Bourbon and strawberries

At 1:25 this morning I stared into the flowing Kandagawa and I saw the past. I saw it rushing by awash in garish fluorescent light, unnoticed and trivial. But leaning on the aluminum bridge railing with a crumpled Camel hard pack in my breast pocket, nursing the wounds of my termination, I knew there was nothing to be said or done. I knew it before the night had even started; I knew it in winter last year as I undertook the most visceral and pure session of my limited photographic career.

I have been, and always will be, a lover; born in the world not just strongly attracted to beauty but, almost, hopelessly impaled on it.

And I’m sorry it had to drive us apart.

Walking with percussion

何これ、この超現実的な平穏感じ?落ち着いたじゃなくて、沸騰。揺れる。アンティシペーション。真っ直ぐ進んで、一歩一歩元気な足取り。狂気ですか。いや、その軽い白昼夢。若者同類ででもそんなに狙いがないさ。なんか愛したいと思えるけど今だけ愛は中じゃなくて、愛は外。

Untitled

Clean. I will clear my mind. Fifty-six minutes from Fujisawa to Shinjuku, shonan to metropolis, and me alone with the task to set a mind of worries and welts, a mind of “tomorrow”, and “What didn’t I do today?”. For some reason I think of Pittsburgh and the 38A from Oakland to Swissvale. All the moments spent on dark and silent trips through Wilkinsburg. The shakes and the turns, shambles of mass transit from a driver deep in tough about serious things I would at a glance deem, “petty.”

But yes a train, trying to write as small as possible, listening to the delayed, slovenly beats of RITM: lilting over piano, washing over the keys, on an ocean past and a sea far away that perhaps I once dreamt of.

No no no,m this is not sun or fatigue or lust or a wanting, no this is just a rant, no an expression, a bit of sunlight breaking through the clouds. A small bit of blinding inspiration that has shaken free of the gloomy mental cage in which I live.

Ochitsuita. Kamo.

So, anyone bored of the past week looking for us has most certainly noticed that at, as well as the gallery, have been offline. This is what non-dedicated hosting gets you, I suppose. I’ve been with iPowerWeb for a little over two years and have been moved to a different server once every seven months or so; sometimes with warning, sometimes without. At all times data has fallen on the floor someplace and mail has gone out for a while. However, as far as I can tell, this time the only thing not working right now is the gallery (which I hope to have working before bed).

I don’t know how long it’ll last, but this should remedy the MySql timeout problems for a while; at least until this server fills up with 566 other accounts who hammer the query proxy a lot rougher than we do. And then?

I picked up a guitar for the first time in ten years last weekend. I played “Country Roads” and remembered how much beginners hate F. I wish I had my own house with thick walls, but I don’t, so I need to hang out in the park during odd hours of the week. Like I said when I borrowed the dusty Takamine, “Nothing will come of it.” But still, it felt good, if just for a moment. Last weekend was a strange rosary made from calming moments of transparent enjoyment.

Indie Rock & Roll (yes, another Killers song)

Glamorous
Indie rock n’ roll is what I need
It’s in my soul, it’s what I need
Indie rock n’ roll, it’s time
Two of us
Flipping through a thrift store magazine
She plays the drums, I’m on tambourine
Bet your, your bottom dollar on me

It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s all I need
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me

In a clutch
I’m talking every word for all the boys
Electric girls with worn down toys
Make it up, break it up, what do you care
Oh what do you care?

I take my twist with a shout
A coffee shop with a cause, then I’ll freak you out
No sex, no drugs, no life, no love
When it comes to today

Stay if you wanna love me, stay
Oh don’t be shy, let’s cause a scene
Like lovers do on silver screens
Let’s make it yeah, we’ll cause a scene

It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s all I need
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me

In a clutch
I’m talking every word for all the boys
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s all I need
Makin’ up, breakin’ up, what do you care
What do you care?
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me

Two of us
Flipping through a thrift store magazine
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me
It’s all I need
Makin’ up, breakin’ up, what do you care
What do you care?
It’s Indie rock n’ roll for me

— The Killers

Yeah, I’m still here. Am I the same person you studied, drank, wept, and fell in love with?

I hope so.

Jenny Was a Friend of Mine

We took a walk that night, but it wasn’t the same
We had a fight on the promenade out in the rain
She said she loved me, but she had somewhere to go
She couldn’t scream while I held I close
I swore I’d never let her go
Tell me what you wanna know
Oh come on, oh come on, oh come on
There ain’t no motive for this crime
Jenny was a friend of mine
So come on, oh come on, oh come on

I know my rights, I’ve been here all day and it’s time
For me to go, so let me know if it’s alright
I just can’t take this, I swear I told you the truth
She couldn’t scream while I held I close
I swore I’d never let her go

Tell me what you wanna know
Oh come on, oh come on, oh come on
And then you whisper in my ear
I know what you’re doing here
So come on, oh come on, oh come on
There ain’t no motive for this crime
Jenny was a friend of mine
Oh come on, oh come on, oh come on

— The Killers