016 - collected notes from discarded drafts
we've heard about a meteor shower that should be visible from our city, if you head far enough out to dodge the light pollution. probably only one night left to see it. [...] i want this plan to work.
none of my friends are really into photography, but they still tell me the photos i show them are cool, and they appreciate the gizmoish nature a lot of my cameras have. i bring my medium format camera, a giant rangefinder with a misaligned lens and a solid kilogram or two over what my wrists can easily take. i bring my tripod; a genuinely awful aluminium construction my dad gave me when he learned i was doing photography again. a month later, i lent it to a girl and never saw it again. i bring two rolls of film, even though i know i won't shoot that many pictures.
it's part of the helplessness trauma, yeah. spend a little too long living under the thumb of your parents, under your dysphoria, under the shitty suburb a little too far from anything, under the expectations of your so called friends. remake yourself so you're not able to stand it anymore, make the discomfort bad enough that it forces you to do something about it. oops! went a little too far! can't give up control now without it killing you! better luck next time!
i can’t stop myself from mourning a little whenever one of my friends gets fulltime work. i don’t really know how to feel about this.
i think about an interaction i overheard once, someone talking up their friend to some colleagues. “he’s great at finding what people are good at”
“he’s great at helping people do what they love”
“i have a friend, a real creative type, but she couldn’t find projects that paid”
“he helped her out a ton. she’s super happy now. she makes ad campaigns now”
i think that i struggle to understand other people's happiness. i hope that i struggle to understand other people's happiness.
a woman walked up to me. fixed her eyes on me. she didn't greet me, i returned the favour. we stayed there, motionless, for about half a minute. "it's about time for you to die, isn't it", she told me, and she ran.
i chose to put on the collar. i am the one in charge of my othering. fuck you.
i bring my camera back in. i go to replace the dark slide, and i can't find it. it's still in the camera.