Looking Glass

From time to time, I need to cry alongside the river. That old brown Red River is mighty swollen these high days of summer and last night it felt good to just let my woes go with the flow. No mask whatsoever. My oldest (not to be mistaken with eldest) friend in the book smoked a real skinny cigarette on a long log and nodded with those long black lashes leading the way wisely, while I just let 'er buck; heaving sorrow into that gurgling abyss as the sun set at our backs. Cheap whiskey out of a three day old Little Sister coffee cup, yup. Out of me, into the swollen river it went. Hi ho.

Below lies a very dear photo of my great grandfather. This is the man who taught me to wear hats. We have never met in physical form to my knowledge. He was long gone before my time. Though I have been getting to know him quite well through the lupe, diving deep into the grain of his negatives and seeing his world crack open in the dark of my basement. Family form / stepping back in time on a solo journey; this is how I like to party. Good eye Peter, good eye. And goddamn, what a hat!

PJB stands tall. Photographer unknown. Handprinted in my darkroom // 2013