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Photograph of a poster on Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley.
October 8th, 1999

With A Shadowed Past
I went to the the movie Guinevere Wednesday night and then wrote about it this journal after I returned. I didn't mention the bar of chocolate I bought at the theater that said something about espresso on the label and turned out to have espresso beans in the bar. Crunchy little devils, they were. Chocolate has caffeine and espresso beans, I must assume, have even more, so after writing I went to bed and stared at the ceiling for a couple of hours, clear of head, ready for anything, watching volumes of fascinating rubbish stream across my walls. I was shot all to hell that next night and went to bed around 8:00. You're never too old to learn. And relearn. And relearn.

I've recently exchanged emails with another journaler, a kind of thinking out loud exchange about An OAT yesterday at lunch. this business of writing a journal entry most every day and how that wears, particularly when your Muse is on a bender in Vegas and you're sitting here at your monitor in Oakland wondering why the door is open and the rain is coming in. I don't have many people with whom I can compare thoughts like these and it's comforting to hear that even the very best ones occasionally experience at least a shadow of what I've been experiencing myself. I'm not thinking of stopping, in fact my mood is pretty good, but I'm wondering how to take this forward. I've thought of not posting on the weekends and using that time to pay more attention to individual pieces such as collabs where I can experiment with different kinds of photography, particularly indoors, portraits maybe (For portraits you need actual people and I don't know many actual people. Not to worry, if I'm supposed to shoot portraits, I'll find some way to meet actual people.) and what are called product shots, although I'm not planning on shooting Vodka bottles or peanut butter bars.

A similar change with the writing, taking time to thoroughly think things through and do proper rewrites. Get crazy. Use purple verbs and nouns with a shadowed past. Maybe this weekend, maybe next.

Mr. Wuss is lying on the desk to my left, his shoulder on my left wrist stretching over with his claws digging into my right forearm. He has settled down after a long monologue about art, life and food, the emphasis on food, and is thinking, I believe, about his chances of biting off a pinky finger and eating it behind the dresser in the bedroom, whether this might prove a fruitfull course of action, whether I might not skwush him like a potato bug. He's hungry and he's skinny but he's coherent and the answer is not beyond his grasp.

The banner photograph was taken of a poster pasted against a building near Shattuck Avenue and University in Berkeley. For a guy who lives in Oakland, I spend a lot of time in Berkeley.