sometimes i get so overwhelmed with all these influences and overflow with all these ideas of people telling me how this photo should be or that photo shouldn't be or how to be correct. i think the more i learn, the more dissatisfied i am. there is a little glimmer of peace when i grasp my little plastic camera that i bought for 5 kronor in stockholm. i could have easily stolen it, but i paid five kronor because i hoped in the end it would be worth more. its not so much to pay for imperfect memories.
. . .
The taxi sped on by and he wondered what he would do if it had been her. He was much too clever to believe that anything could be like a romantic comedy or a bestselling book.
Guy gets girl. No one would have thought. But everyone knew.
If life were really like those books, it would be comfortable and predictable, nestled safely between a beginning, middle, and end. Life could never be that comfortable, except perhaps before birth. He wished he could have stayed in utero quite a bit longer. How comfortable that would be! A little warm, dark, place, where care came without effort.
Life took effort, which was certainly nothing he was opposed to, but it came with some amounts of pain. Even childhood was painful. Not painful through and through, but it contained pain, which he was also not completely opposed to. That childhood pain, he was sure, (or at least his therapist seemed to think so) was where all of his present problems, idiosyncrasies and biggest downfalls stemmed from. He wondered--if everything could be explained away by childhood experiences. Maybe believing in that was like believing that the synchronicity of romance comedies could exist in real life. Maybe it was just finding meaning for meaning's sake. Or finding meaning in coincidence. Creating synchronicity. Creating cause and effect so that things made more sense.
A cat crossed the street, where the taxi had passed. He watched the cat disappear under a parked car and thought how strange it was, that anything could come to the city and become domesticated. Damn. This thought weighed upon him heavily.
At least the animal looked healthy and entertained, with a shiny coat and graceful gait. He'd just come to the city and replaced his meals with cigarettes and sleep with the varying not-so-delicate women. He walked to the kitchen and pulled a cold beer from the fridge. In a bottle. Which he would recycle later.
At least he'd grown up in some ways.