Shot a photo of James Francis in his underwear this morning. Legs for days and daze. Big dumb smiles on all of us in the kitchen. Can I shoot your photo? Of course. He hadn't gotten as far as pants when Creme and I arrived at his house. I can appreciate that ease of character. I am not proud of my body, I am comfortable. Amen.
Life is rolling along. Nice Saturday. Woke with a big dopey smile, tucked myself into an arm and inhaled. Slatted light on the wall, gray day of Spring. Breakfast with two men. Fried perogies and farmer sausage to start this Saturday. Coffee black. Cold wind whipping over exposed feet. I left after the first public and affectionate adieu, turning away into the wind with the camera in hand. See ya.
Shot my way uptown, contrast vision. Nothing caught my eye. Sat down by the river port on Waterfront and thought of Simon. Welcome Port of Winnipeg. I shot the sight of that signage and with that, a memory flood. Miss you. Steve. Miss you. What I would give for an easy breakfast with you two Squirrels. Benny. Soon enough. I bet you are eating breakfast in New York together right now. I can see Simon with his own long legs walking around in gitch lit up by a pool of front-of-house light, pissing with the door thrown wide. Laughter standing up. I can appreciate that too.
Made my way home off the beaten track, running the last couple of weeks over in thought. Loud coat covered in burrs. A plastic bag filled with old photographs. Right hand black with paint about to turn gold.
Moped parts came in. Craig handed me the tail pipe and I held it like the awkward cousin holds the new family baby. On the cusp of a new education altogether. Gotta wrap up this workload by Thursday and then take apart and piece together in order to fly over the Disraeli camel back full throttle. Ready or not.
Off to the spray booth. Golden limbs and club collars. Little shingles. But is it Art? Nope just hogwash. Ideas bob along the river. Gotta fish them out with care.