Following the third year of a holiday letter comprised
of my (increasingly complex) life via a (increasingly complex) year-in-photographs, I
wondered what it would be like to join the great experiment of 365 days of photographs.
I'm not a photographer,
I'm a writer. I'm a visual thinker, and if ever there was proof that a photo is worth a
thousand words, it would be the story a photo tells me, or in this case, about me.
Follow me on this adventure, where I
learn about photography, my ability to record my life, my dedication to something (I've
never been known for doing anything everyday) in my posts. I've also discovered I'm
learning about time, the history of it, and the odd practice of recording it, measuring it,
turning it into something tangible, and I'll record these explorations in the sidebar.
As always, feel free
to say anything. My experiment is not a spectator sport.

June 24, 2009

June 24 2009 If The World Knows Them

Forcing myself to write is the only thing these days that gets the writing out of me. This here daily occurrence is the only assemblage of language I produce every day. Some days I despise it, others, I compose all day and savor my moments alone making that composition concrete. Really, really good writing days come rarely, spontaneously, and with no reservations. It's write now, or chug out something later.

A double shot of not-a-good morning. Unmotivated, the bug bites. I announce my intention to sit down and write, which usually accompanies a hug as if I were leaving and a cup of coffee, and the children watching a movie or playing outside. Instead, the pronouncement is followed with a tirade of responsibilities, and the morning leaves angry and incomplete, and unaccomplished. Why? It's the dishes fault. It's always the freaking dishes fault. See? All I did was choose to write instead of put the dishes away, or a slew of other chores. Instead, I didn't do any of the above. Classic.

Yes. I took a picture of my dishwasher. Macro, point-blank, 7x zoom, flash.

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