Photography Thinks
David Duncan Douglas died at 102. War photogs don’t usually live that long. I won’t either. But I hope, in the few years I have left, to make more humanistic photos and become acquainted with more artists who will let me see them work. At least I have something to take my mind off of dying.
This is an old friend, Geebbo Church, noted artist and educator.
So, Oliver killed Komar and I lost my career and almost everything else. Sharon turned to me as we hugged under the covers, reporters gathered under our windows keeping me locked in my home, “…, you aren’t going to hurt yourself, are you?” No one else cared enough to ask.
Many probably wanted me to. People even wanted to kill me. Now, I don’t have anything I can do about not dying, except to live to experience it. But, I still choose life and will as long as Sharon keeps loving me.
Poor Spade and Bourdain. How lost and alone, even though they seemed to have anything they could have wanted – fame, fortune, funds. Goblins got them. No one wanted to be with them where they were, depressed and despondent. Their families and friends deserve comfort, for sure, but where were they? Had their own lives to worry about, I guess.
So, I have gotten bad news before: death of my father, jobs, an ex-wife, family, friends. Nothing hit me quite like, “you have cancer.” Then came, “…, and we have a pill that works.” We waited and saw for a few months, not as long as I had hoped and started treatment. 7 days of this chemo. Just don’t know how I feel.
Got a haircut and beard trim. Better to look good than to feel good at this point, while I still do and can. Barber said he was tired of working, considering retirement as he approached 70.
“I’m 71,” I replied.
“You don’t look 71,” he responded, shocked, taking a second look at the mirror to make sure his guess was based on actual appearance and not just a good natured compliment.
“What does 71 look like?”
Not knowing how to feel or what it feels like to feel good poses a problem. The harder it is to know who I am or why the less I care about what everyone else feels about me. The challenge is to make the remainder meaningful, despite having been ravaged in the past.
Monthly photo. Quite a set. We had a bad day, but stayed in love, supporting each other. Too old and a challenged immune system prevented me from getting a yellow fever vaccine. So, no trip to the Amazon Rain Forest. Cost us money, but Sharon won’t have to worry about some wayward bug biting me.
I can still look into the mirror at myself. I often wonder if any of you, not the few who stood up for justice, can do the same. You all, especially my brother’s family, scum, left me to die. I did suffer a mortal wound, but have not expired, yet. Closer to dying, than living. Cancer will kill me, before the Per Curium.