4/12/2008 - December

I’m feeling pretty good. Allow me to feel good, fellahs, and if you feel bad, then I’m sorry, and I hope that I can take a picture and cheer you up.

A picture can be a beautiful thing. I’m looking forward to the weekend because I’m going to take pics for the “God Help The Girl” cover. I think I already got the pic for the “Little Sister” cover. Now I’ve just to get the LP cover.

The set up will be easy, and that’s the kind of pics that are enjoyable to take; but also, I feel like I’ll be starting down a visual journey, a first step I’ve been hoping to take. Nothing spectacular, but it will feel good to capture a little bit of what it is that’s moving me.

And what is it that’s moving me? And is it important? And what is it that’s moving you? Of course it’s important!

I used to get these feelings, sporadically, when I was younger. When I was having, by all accounts, an up and down time of it. I was lost, and irresponsible, living on a cheap loaf of bread a day, and by the grace of a one bar heater.

I used to get these feelings, in the middle of plodding along, acting daft. I’d be coming back from the pool, or the shops, or a friends. I’d glance to the right, where the last of the light showed a far stretch of the city, high flats and gas holders. It would get me as much as a horizon ever got anyone. I’d feel good for the first time that day, but, I wouldn’t be thankful.. I’d just hoped the feeling would last. I would chase it all the way home, but it would be gone as soon as I reached the front door.

I still get those feelings. I go looking for them, as I was talking about a few days ago. I go looking all over the city. I’ve been to many places in the world, but I often feel that my city contains as much of life and heaven as I could ever want.

That’s an illusion, I know. I live to a large degree, an illusion. But if the illusion is heaven, or even a part of it, or even a sign post to it, then I’ll take it. I will take it.

I’m about to go and play football. If the frost has lifted, then we will play. From the pitch are arrayed the landscape and steeples of the west end of the city, before the purple dusk. We will defy the darkness and the night. It will be our little slice of heaven.

 

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