Its funny, I think, looking at old family photos – knowing how everything turned out for everyone in the picture. “Ahh, she split, he died, they don’t ever look that happy.” It’s funnier still to think that these simple rearrangements are as random as the ones you just rambled through, and you might be in the process of a shift as you spoke.
Maybe that’s why I take so many pictures, because the photos both prove I experienced something and allow me to re-experience that something all from the safety of my safe little bunker. I made it out, and am mostly ok, with that little swab of history, forever.
And then some would say I spend far too much time in my own head, and need to emerge and do shit every once and awhile. I, usually putting something in standby, will laugh to myself because they don’t understand what happens “out there” affects those of is “in here” and sometimes what happens “out there” is bad enough that all of us “in here” might wind up getting re-arranged just like one of those ex-girlfriends of uncles in so many faded family photos.
This is usually the time I stop making sense to people and surf off into my own spirograph of reasoning I don’t need to get into here. And won’t. But that photo stuff, deep waters, seriously, chew on it, see what you come up with.
