Wednesday, September 15, 2004



Posted by ruzz on September 15, 2004 at 06:02 PM in it's a metaphor, stupid. | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

close my eyes

PICT0441_resizei drop my head back, close my eyes. my neck is cradled in the watermellon-sized valley of my pillow. I breathe deep. I don't think about the featherless bird responsible for the soft headrest. no, i don't think about that at all. only later when i'm writing it down does that featherfree little bird exist.

and behind my eyes, deep in the muck of my head a movie starts to play. I've watched it so often i mouth the dialogue quietly. I don't want to disturb any one else who might'n of not seen it. it always opens with the same truck shot.

i am standing in front of an unforgivably epic wall of nanking cherry bush. it's tall as wide and the soft curl of new leaves tells me it's still june, maybe early july. everything is crisp and sharp, you could, if you were the kind of person to do that sort of thing, you could count the tiny tiny hairs which outline the leaves.

and it's bathed in light. a thousand shards of light breaking, folding, bending. one massive source of pure white light breaks through the dark brush. I catch my breath and hug my tripod to my heart.

PICT0264_resizeit's so lush i can't look right at it. it pulls your cells apart if you look right at it. the corners of my eyes get tired, but i've figured out how to frame this. I have to take at least six large steps back.

and i unfold the legs of my tripod, it's a ryhthm. a cadence of clicks and swooshing and then she stands stable like my father's smile. i spin the spindle. the camera is joined now. for better or worse, they must work together till someone either breaks them apart...

or they come unspun.

i turn the camera on. I look through the viewfinder. it's brilliant. the purest white light. softer than your baby's kiss. more honest than someone who hates you.

i make small aperature adjustments. a third of a stop this way. a third that. i up the shutter speed. i don't want all that light. no one want's all that light, we want something london drugs could actually print, and that ain't much. it's darker now, more contrast and meaning.

my finger hovers over the shutter release. it hovers and hovers. i make small adjustments to height and angle. i focus the camera, rolling my fingers. it's a fucking orchestra just now. my ears hum from it. my heart, what's left of it, bursts.

my finger hovers some more.

i scan the frame. what's not right. what's not there. what is the focus. why am i sharing this with you when i could just stare out the sides of my eyes till it broke me.

the phone rings.

i pull it from my pocket and try to read the caller-id. it's changing. no, it's scrolling, as if i were browsing my phone book. who is calling?

everyone. all of 'em.

and i hear the cat. she's shrilling. only certain cats shrill, and she's one of them. she walks into my frame and rolls on the ground.

shrill. shrill. pet me asshole.

shell isn't far behind her.

and my landlord leans his head in the upper right portion of my frame.
"uh, ruzz?"

and someone pushes my computer by behind him on a trolly.
then my dev server too.

and then i hear the crushed grass. my neighbour has just hopped the fence.
and my ex-wife slams her car door on the street. and i hear bronte, or milos --i can never tell-- cry. i hear jude yelling shoosh. and more people are coming. i hear them on the walk. this movie is becoming a rock video.

and now my camera has an email display. one of those on the spot dream-time features.

143 unread emails.
and they scroll like the phone is scrolling.

20040820_174446_0058_resizesometimes, if you stand still enough, or spin fast enough, you can erase yourself from a picture being taken. you have to match the shutter speed exactly though. tegan and i have done it.

the light is fading now.
i can see it behind the angry emails. scrolling scrolling.

the low battery indicator turns on like a seatbelt warning in a plummeting airplane. blink. blink. blink. and i know how this ends. I know because i've watched the movie play, in the deep muck of my brain, a thousand thousand times.

the camera turns off before i decide. the window is now officially missed.

Posted by ruzz on September 1, 2004 at 01:57 PM in it's a metaphor, stupid. | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack