Water Is Sake
Saturday. Ah, yes. Photographs. I'm supposed to be out shooting photographs, but I am not out shooting photographs. No loss of interest, just a loss of, well, shooting. I can blame it on the aching head etc. and there's much to that, but there's also the reality that I've been, well, slothful. Slothful and introspective, now that I have this “I'm so fucking old I'm going to retire” thing coming. I do like the images, so why no images? Kismet? Zen? Retirement? Sloth? So many choices. A time of turmoil where things are sorted out, he said, where life is sifted through and examined in preparation for this new chapter that's soon to be starting, so don't sweat the lack of action? Sure. I can live with “it's not my fault”.
True, but a good kind of bullshit spun when the attitude is better and I'm thinking, well, what with all this time that's going to be on my hands, why not take those yodeling lessons I've been so successfully putting off? Or is it there is not enough time in the entire universe for yodeling lessons? So many choices. Maybe substitute learning to make that spicy chicken spaghetti sauce everyone is talking about, prepared on a beach on an ocean where tsunamis never call, where the water is like sake and the women are naked and don't seem to notice you're over the hill?
Maybe it's best you hang onto the journal and forget searching for beaches that don't exist.
Fantasy, reality. What's the real difference? MRE suggested I visit Japan, since I've always had a certain fascination for the culture. “Why”, I asked? “What does the reality of Japan have to do with my fantasy?” Well, actually, maybe I would like to take a camera to Japan, visit one of their larger festivals held somewhere half way affordable (where the women wear no clothes and the water is sake).