We usually tried to avoid his visits, which often felt weighted with some unspecified tension or grievance. Later I learned that throughout this period he’d been in dreadful pain, and that our times together had been among the few things that distracted him from his suffering.

Sixties rock groups with more than one member who became schizophrenic
1) Moby Grape
2) Fleetwood Mac

In the mirror you still recognize yourself. In photographs you see how old and ugly you’ve become.

Last night, the most wonderful dream: Dad still alive. It was all a mistake after all. He was standing in a sunny field. Tears streamed down my face. He smiled and held out his hand. He said: turn off your television. Stop your drinking. Put aside the things that do you no good.
·
Woke suddenly. Ringing in ears. Shortness of breath. Pain in chest, jaw, upper arm. Poured drink. Turned on television. Acceptance.

Certainty, in inverse proportion to intelligence.

Did you have a reason for each of these esthetic choices, other than “just for the hell of it?”
Fuck no.

A season of grey drizzle, jet fuel, burnt coffee, lavatory disinfectant. Looking back, it all seems rather exotic. I miss it. I’m so tired. So sad. So angry. If we met now, I wonder if you’d know me.

At one celebratory banquet, Mr. Aldrin was breathlessly asked, “Tell us how it really felt to be on the moon!” Afterward, he rushed outside into an alley and wept.

Writing about photography—more about writing than photography.

In the dream he caught the eye of someone who seemed familiar, a trusted friend of long ago or a forgotten family member, only to realize with a shock that it was a younger, kinder version of himself—a version he’d forgotten had ever existed. Describing it to them, he suddenly burst into tears. He said that three days after the dream his depression had lifted. The dream seemed rather obvious, he said, but the mind likes obvious. Obvious works.

Hell is other people’s nostalgia.

symptom: fatigue
diagnosis: fatigue

At closing time we patched our wounds, finished our drinks and headed into the summer night.

The present you ignore eventually becomes the past you cling to.

February in the city, when nobody gives a fuck anymore.

Form, which is infinite, containing all of the formless from which it derived.

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