Things to do on a Sunday in Toledo

Closer to the edge

Hooded

Self-contained

The whole “self-contained” thing is a work in progress. I truly believed when I returned home from Los Angeles last October, I was better equipped mentally for my return to Toledo. It’s been a grind though. Taking pics, promoting events, dabbling politically, hanging with friends – anything to be busy and productive. I came home because my dad is sick (on top of my father being sick, my brother-in-law was diagnosed with leukemia on Christmas). It was the only choice I felt I could make, and I left a lot back in Los Angeles to make it. Something Andi wrote back then touched me and helped to reaffirm the decision I made:


http://shesawred.blogspot.com/2009/10/home.html

But Toledo hasn’t been kind. It seems folks built up their own little fiefdoms while I was gone. My return has been met by outright attack from a few folks, and the attacks have continued to this day. In an incredibly insular community like model photography, this has been disruptive. I won’t lie. It hurts. I’m just trying to book shoots, do my thing and create something that will last. My trust in people right now is probably at the lowest point it’s ever been. My friendship with Andi has been the one constant. My restraint over the past five months has surprised even me when it comes to my lack of a response to the garbage being thrown at me. I try to remind myself that I’ve been an active photographer since 2002 and created a scene folks have enjoyed for the most part since 2005. I’ve done my best to help some people along the way. I’ve had ugly moments too, misunderstandings and total breakdowns in communications with others. I drop the ball on occasion. Still, I always strive to never be deliberately hurtful to others. I think this is what infuriates me the most. It seems that with much of the younger set, cultivating a “total asshole” persona is some kind of badge of honor. I’m not going to try to fight such a mindset. It’s a zero sum game. I’ll continue to do what I do, avoid the explosive encounters and circumnavigate folks who derive their entertainment at the expense of others. There’s some growth I can believe in.

Transgress

You always remember your first time . .

From the very first and second shoots I ever did, back in NYC in 2002. Black and white crack added 2010.

Newly Born

Archive fever continued. An older poem:

NEWLY BORN

You speak to me as a sister, though I am no relation
Trapped in this prison of flesh
Wanting to cower and hide, a traitor to my own kind
You know me better than I
I am like a wound, taking all the pain within
No aim, no direction, no logocentric lie
I am a repository for something new
And I know not what, just the pain of my own abasement
The body blows I hide so well
Degenerative damage only known to me
And you say, “Here is the enigma
For softness is born of strength”
An enigma for sure, for where is the strength?
I only know the softness, the timidity
The overwhelming fear of not being loved
Who is to be born?
She says, You and I are born
For if you truly look, you see
If you truly touch, you are touched
And so see her as she truly is
My voice is compelled by her beauty
In the face of the sublime I cry
Feelings of tension and release as I am seduced
The receptacle, the repository, bursts
I am emptied out, destroyed, reborn
As I desire to complete her, so I complete myself
I have been recast in her role
My voice resounds, for I am beautiful!
Those idols of the cave are finally lost to me
I am one with my beginning, carnal and thunderous
Yet pure and proud, subtle and instinctive
I need not approximate, penetrate, capture
I stand apart, yet it is us or nothing
There is no genesis or apocalypse without me
Let it fall, let the invisible barriers be annulled
For I am ready . . .
And yet there is still the enigma
For there is always the tempest
I am not indifferent to her suffering
Her lack, her want, her need
You must be common in your appearance
No need for adornment, for the play set to begin
She must be less kept, ripe and heavy for the ritual
A formless beauty for my brutal vision
My automatons do my bidding
Handsome and desirable, unthinking and unwavering in loyalty
A cold, brutal plan without pathos
Let her be gagged and silenced
No hint of sympathy to fall on uncaring ears
There can be no capitulation, no charm to save her
She is a woman in every sense
Free of ignorance, secure in herself and who she is
Overpowered by all too human automatons
Nameless and faceless in commonality
Yet I alone have the key
For I am ready . . .
She is ripe for the slaughter
As I am vacant, emptied out, filled with ice and fire
Gagged, a cloth crushes her tongue
She is perfect in her fury and humiliation
Full and lethargic, divided and pregnant
Taken by one of my own, eager in his service
She is divided and at my mercy, completely vulnerable
Her pathetic state moves me
Can she sense my desire, my need for appropriation?
How I adore her, need her
She must be treated nobly
For her secret, her mystery, will be torn from her alive
And there is the enigma
That softness is born from strength
To know the flattering, you must know the destructive
The desire for the origin, the torture, the annihilation
The need for abasement and possession
To not censor but to understand
To be newly born.