As Many as I Can Remember: March - Twenty Six

que pasa?

the irishman dies

is almost dead already. Fuck I wanted to write my screenplay. Christopher Walken. I love him but fuck. Noone will wanna see my shit when it is ready.

memories

We thought we would be gods. We listened to a lot of Led Zeppelin, and in that we thought we found everything. I thought I did. Especially live stuff. I sort of learned the music.

miss my brother

so today I had to move my stuff from the "TV" room to somewhere else. I am living on someone elses dime so that means when I have to move shit I have to move shit. I don't have much shit anyways. Enough to fill a burea and a small chunk of a closet. When it needs to be moved then it fills up the walls, floors etc of a small bedroom. 8x10 I am guessing. Bigger than a jail cell I am guessing. Brighter too. Part of what I had to move was a CD rack. In that rack were some Cds from from my brother. Well, he died and so "from him" means someone had to do something with them. So I took em to Cali. The rack too eventually. The rack is back. I am back. the CDs are back. I am in his old bed in this small white room that is a tad bigger than a jail cell. I moved the CD rack from the TV room to this small white room. Thinking. So far and not far at all. This was my room before it was Pat's room. I got out to Cali. He got out to a failed liver that took his life as he lay down in Boston Common. The southeast corner on a warm night in summer. I sit there sometimes reading a script before audition at what is now Emerson college at that corner. That and Dunkin' Donuts. The top drawer of the bureau still has some of his stuff. I will move soon. And when I do that I will have to decide, do I take the whole contents of the drawer? Or do I finally get rid of his stuff. The newspaper he had with him the night he died is still there, top drawer.

How to know when you are moved`

Moving from one city to another should seem an obvious thing. And it is. When you are there in your new city I mean. The weather is different, streetnames, people., your job (if you are that lucky) But settling in is different. At first things like a new library card, or registering to vote, drivers licence. After a while you get used to your new atm, writing out your new address, clicking on the right state when you fill out an online form. Supermarkets are easy. They are almost identical across the country. Some things don't change at all (like 800 numbers or 911). If you have a cell phone you don't even have to change how you dial a number. But then after a while certain things creep up on you. You see a bus while rushing and your brain gets weird flashbacks as the number brings back memories of another bus route in another city. Other things happen too. You stumble across a receipt and then realize it is no longer a receipt but a brief memory ride to what was your previous life. In Boston the bare trees at first don't seem too different. But after months of their black boney fingers extended against a grey sky. Well. It sinks in.

haunts

I used to think depression was a man made thing, that a human being was at ease with the universe as a regular state and that a human's non ability to relate to the world resulted in depression. Then I moved back to Boston. This city haunts me. Its' winter. It makes me want to watch grey films. Today it was sunny and the weather warmed up. People had on t-shirts and what seemed to be a complete amnesia as regards winter. Like it never happened. An old habit of mine, I saw sunshine so I grabbed a less thick coat. It was still a bit warm but since I would be coming back home as it was cooler it was fine. I walked part of the way to the station without it on. It felt fine.

But back to the haunting. I wake up in the winter and look out the window at a grey world. Tree limbs black, wiry prison bar fingers. Odd to think that without the proper clothing one could die in this weather. Shelter must be secured. The human body can only generate so much heat. Perhaps a person can only generate so much happiness.

The streets are depressing too. I often times wish for the old things. The worn aspect of it. Newness makes me uneasy. Things painted new and polished and manicured. These things I don't like.
And death surrounds me.

lights

I left the house in a hurry, stuffing an extra lense with my camera into my backpack. the only roll I thought I had left was 200 color. As I think of it I have some 400. Anyway the 200 was already in the camera. Night. 200 would not be enough and a telephoto would be dumb, unless I took pictures in the bar. I didn't. So, after the bar, at the T stop I had great views of the city, some snow flakes crossing, lights at the stop, lights along the tracks. Regrettably not enough light. I got frustrated and put the camera away and looked for a place to piss. It was at this time I decided in addition to keeping a notebook of what to photograph (and notes from past expeditions) I needed to keep a notebook of where to piss after drinking and on my way home. The T is a nightmare with a full bladder. Anyway after pissing this stop looked quite cool. The train came. I ended up in Copley Square. Street level, the bus was at the red light and I was thinking it must be leaving early. No it was 2 minutes late already. So...now I had a full roll of film and time. I went into the bus shelter and removed the doubler I had on the lens so I could go wide. Ahh...the lights on the front of the Boston Public Main Library were almost enough. I used the 2 bronze statues in front to frame these massive chandelier type lights. Always just barely enough light. Note to self, 400 or above for any outdoor shooting at night, and probably the same if I want to add the doubler. A whole role of film of lights, just those lights. Framed by the staues, sometimes on their own. I'd like to get to brick soon.