you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there
just as cold as you taste

a waif's siren call


"Finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind."  
Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quijote de La Mancha

I wasn't looking and there she was: inspiration inside a monster truck jumper. A little dangerous waif's siren call that I could not resist. I kept going back facisnated by every little detail and escapade. It's not until I was describing her to my muse that I realized how predictable I am. I respect her recorded sexuality, her honesty or need for attention. Any flaws look like diamonds on her.

I'm trying to sleep, nap, anything that turns me off. I start writing a note. I can't sleep until I crafted it perfectly. I'll never know her but appreciate this fuel, this propulsion I felt from her. I need to write her and thank her. I want to share secrets with her. I want to know all her secrets. The spark gets brighter and I write her a note:  I want to tell you how pretty you are each hour of the day. I want to stop wondering if you are wearing cute underwear and just have you show me. I want to go buy cigarettes for you and come back to you waiting in bed naked. I want to whisper dirty things to you in public. I want to play with your hair while you fall asleep. I want to wake you by going down on you. I want to tell you "guess what? today you didn't cry".

I'm feeding off of Creativity to survive. Each post is a heartbeat. It's how you know that I am alive. I was feeling like I was going to shut down. Inspiration felt like something I could not hold or imagine. The menial ecosystem of life gets in the way and ruins my mood. Nothing is going right in my Life. Not A Single Thing. I have to take a moment and try some mental yoga. I aim to avoid a state of emergency. Make a list of the certainties: I love photography. I love women. I love the fall season.
Sometimes it's so quiet here I feel I'm living like a monk. I want to break the silence in the dirtiest way possible. To rebel against things said about me: "he's very nice", "has high morals", "does the right thing", "one of the reasons I like you as a friend is that you've never tried to fuck me".

I [need] joy. I am not mobilizing to find it though. Something keeps me serene. I [long] for a shoulder to lean on. I need to look beyond these walls. Photography is my moment of zen. This leads to Tumblr, a vortex, a black hole, an eternity of pixels.

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