(me chillin' on Baldwin's marble)

12 July
2.51am

the only picture currently in existance of me and that cool kid. too bad I look goofy and like I just woke up. (in fact, I'm just stoned out of my gourd)



graduation!
(aka, the signal to the Day school to start asking Lena for money)

Just posting beause I've gotten all these pretty pictures lately, I have some black and white ones I should put up too, but my limited access to a scanner prevents the influx of my artsy (pretentious) tones of grey.

Exciting development of the day yesterday though was Beth's mention of the availability to her of the Day school's darkroom, though, and her mention of the possibility of me joining her next time she goes to take her bath of red light. I haven't developed pictures in so long, and it's such a nice, soothing yet exciting expenditure of time. I'm a little too impatient for it; I run out into the light to check my test strips long before they've finished in the fixer and I only have a split second to see how they look before they turn black right there between my fingertips. Ah, I love the ability to make paper do such magic, though. I love the shininess of the paper when it's all wet, I love the cool wetness of the chemicals that I'm not supposed to put my fingers in, but can't help testing out a little bit of that soapy base feeling in the grooves of my fingerprints. I love the exactness of the clearest focus of a negative, I love the wavy, fractured edges I give my negatives so that the white edges blend messily with the image.

Of course, taking advantage of all that would mean going back to that place that makes me cry, and want to yell at people at the same time, and want them to think that I'm completely indifferent and cool, also. Maybe the conflictedness isn't a fun price to pay, even if the paper would be free? Or maybe I need to learn not to let physical things represent such emotion for me? Maybe I shouldn't be so fuckin' self-conscious about people I care about so little.

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Although I love the Gallery and always will, I do despise the fact that they've decided that they don't have enough business in the summer to merit staying open til 1 anymore. Not that I don't find a way to not have to go home, but it is almost sacreligious to hear the Gallery boy speaking of everyone leaving at such an hour as 11 o'clock.

(At least they still like us bringing dogs to visit people there.)

But it has been the impetus for some fun times in cars; last night Lena and Kunk and I bought crackers and cheese at Parker's Market and sat in my car listening to songs: ohia and talking about religion. Or, more accurately, I suppose, Elena and I exploring Brandon's head and picking apart every religious belief in his pretty little head. I don't think that we were rabid atheists (I suppose I'd consider myself agnostic, anyway, with much more of a distaste for the majority of organized religions than for a simple belief in god), because Brandon probably still thinks that there's a reason to believe in Christianity, and yet, doesn't hate either one of us.

Heh.

Before I get off on a itchy tangent about religion, perhaps I'll just point out the best thing I have ever read about it. Certainly, a year or so ago, I would've given here a link to Why I Am Not a Christian, but really, I like this better. Richard Bach rocks my world. All apologies for the goofy tables and such that this guy felt compelled to implement. It's still worth reading, I promise.

(No, I have no room to bitch about frames with this mess of a page I've got going on right here. Feel free to complain if it looks like shit for you.)

(And also: No, I'm not sure either exactly how to describe what makes a tangent itchy; all I can say is that it would've been slightly unconfortable in slightly the same manner. Particularly because of the fact that what I would've said is so much more eloquently expressed by the brilliant Mr. Bach, 1 of 2.)

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