How sad, when you try so hard in photographs to hide who you are; the forced smile, the look of desperation, of want-lust, love, hate. The wish and the promise of something more than no-one else can ever give, the look of hunger and disgust but also of sheer hopelessness. You crawl around on all fours but try so hard to pull yourself up because you cannot face this single vision any longer. It's like a curse to you, the days spiraling in and out of each other like an endless stream of emotions and disappointments. You look so happy but in the sense that it feels like you are pleading, wanting someone to pay you attention and not cut you out, the arrogance, the shame. And still you are only half there, like time has been wasted on this endless struggle. Like a fish pulling itself upstream through storm and rain only be eaten by a larger fish who never even had to try, who's charm and force was enough to push through life without the inconvenience of wanting and wishing and hoping. But you've far from had enough. You will keep thinking that one day.. one day.. and the saddest thing is the answer lies there dormant waiting for you to discover it, and take it away.

If I can tell all of this from a photograph, imagine what else I could know.

Your Joan of Arc is a Tour de Force

So..
For a long time I wanted to keep this private, again if my own sanctimonious, pitying whine would be of any interest to anyone other than myself. Idiotic.
I sound unhappy, and I am surely not.
I think I understand something now slightly better. In my last blog I spoke about a fellow who I was able to understand emotionally, which viewpoint similar to mine, perhaps a kind of confidant. Anyway, whatever. The point is here now that perhaps that isn't so important. It is nice to be able to talk to someone and not have to clarify your position because you trust that it is the same as yours but where is the fun in that? And who's to say that this is the same understanding, the mind moves in myterious ways. So now I do think that the meaning of true friendship and perhaps love is that you are willing to accept and to understand a viewpoint that is hugely different to your own.
It's odd how I am not that bothered.

On Friday I went out for the evening. This is a rare event on a Friday because if I have to stay up one minute past Midnight I turn into something far worse than a pumpkin, believe me. The thought of me not getting seven hours sleep scares and infuriates me (it's OK to be in bed and not asleep right the way round til 4am though I must add).
So anyway yes back to my original point. My Finish wife/sister of mine went to an art exhibition held by some chaps she knows from UCCA which was, for want of a better synonym, nice. Most of the work I was very impressed with. Sister Finn and I went on to a pub, where I was then accosted by a barmaid when I didn't think I had my ID was thrown out and then for me to storm back like a phoenix from the flames- BOY DID I SHOW HER, and then we met some of the fellows from the exhibition and moved on.

Usually I would skip these details as I am not in the habit of going on and on about menial daily details but I am trying to make this slightly more interesting and to hold a lot of the context.
My main point is that I spent some considerable time talking to a guy about art, music, social structure and so on and so forth. A lot of our ideas fell in parallels and he said that he found it odd that he has lacerated himself in front of me when I didnt really know him that well at all.
And that got me thinking about things. Was it easier for him to say everything he did because he didnt know me or because he felt there was some kind of connection mentally between us or what? Or was he just drunk? Sypathising with everything I said to sound like he was interested more in the conversation? If he wasnt gay I think I would question these thoughts futher but I am finding it surprising that someone I had limited contact with previously (and for that matter not quite enjoyed it) discussed with me some of my ideas of my whole ethos on life.
Maybe I should keep my cards closer to my chest and push others away.