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Under Construction
San Francisco Gay Pride Parade

July 3rd, 2002

Like William Burroughs
It's interesting to watch the size of the photographs grow. When I started (with 56k dial up) I muddled over hopeless little images for the banners with even smaller postage stamp sized images to include in the prose. Over time I've allowed them to breathe. Some parallel with my own expanding consciousness? Hot air's beneficial effect on a soul? Nah. Bigger feet, I think, bigger soles from all the walking, but I'm still the old gummed up guy I was when I started. I do like the bigger photos though.

Maybe larger photographs show progress, some sense of a developing direction and now it's timeSan Francisco Gay Pride Parade for thoughts of, well, technique. Same with the writing. I sit here putting words down worrying over sound and rhythm and occasionally coherence. Keep it tight, keep it rolling, doesn't matter what it's about as long as it's clear (and often it isn't). Structure - a beginning, a middle and an end and a story line - are steps to be considered for some dim day in the future, for some dim life yet to come. The process, the schedule, the mechanics of sitting down and writing are all I've been worried about. Same with the photography. I've made and continue to make basic errors without any attempt at correction, but I've felt good about the direction and I'm getting closer to a time when I need to sit back and say, well, OK, what now? I don't know.

I sometimes call the next step the beginning - middle - and end step, but that's not accurate. A written piece that holds a course no matter how the narrative rambles might be a better way to describe it. Something, when you finish the reading, you realize has all its parts in place, nothing missing, nothing extra, and the little kid in the narrative gets to ride off into the sunset hugging her bunny rabbit. You know, like William Burroughs.

You're just writing down the first thing that comes into your head now, aren't you? All this "where it's been, where it's going", you don't have a clue.

Well, this has been one of those difficult to write ones where it's gone totally out of control and I can't figure a way to bring the pieces back together other than to stop and start over. I'm too tired to start over.

Odd, though. I did notice the reversal between photography and writing. With the photography I'm saying find the bent, then find the technique. With the writing, I'm saying find the technique, then find the bent. I guess with technique I'm saying style, develop an individual style. Maybe that's why I've always eventually stopped the writing after a time, I don't have a bent except perhaps for keeping a journal. My guess is you know your bent when you look at what you're actually doing, which is probably a rule real writers learn in school.

So, for an awkward exit, what have we self analyzed our way into today, self, this day before the Fourth of July? Well, maybe we've set ourselves up to blow past the barriers tomorrow, find our bent, find our direction and shoot our way to freedom. Like William Burroughs.

The photographs were taken at the San Francisco Gay Pride parade.