Dress Me Like A Clown

I’ve been sending e-mails and letters to people regarding my project in Cairo. The people at Kids with Cameras responded first, and not only sent me one e-mail, but two! The second e-mail they sent me was forwarded from Teriz Michael, who worked with children in Garbage City:

I’ve heard that no one is allowed access or photography privileges in the city of the dead. there is such strong censorship in egypt…
zaballeen is so filthy that the police won’t go there and they let people resolve their own issues so photography there might be a little easier than city of the dead.

good luck!
sorry I am not helpful.

get ready for endless dead ends.

Now I’m getting somewhere.

Not Quite the Way You Planned

I leave for Cairo in less than two months. When did THAT happen?!

I’ve wanted to do this photo project since November. I want to teach photography to people who live in the “Cities of the Dead.” Unfortunately, I’m not on top of my game and as a result, I can’t pull this together. Grant opportunities have passed. Foundations have not responded to my proposals. Research leads to dead ends.

And this is what I was afraid of. I’ve told people about this project, I’ve written essays about it, I’ve been working to prepare everything in my head and in writing, but I’ve done nothing to set it in motion. And because I’m such a lazy little shit, I can’t get this project off the ground. And I feel like I’ve failed. Almost everyone I know is doing something great to help humanity, and I’m trying. I’m really trying because I really want to do this. It seems, however, that I didn’t want it enough.

This sucks. Why does it seem so hard to help people? Why can’t I just have the money and resources I need? Is it really so much to ask for? (Yes, yes it is.) I guess it’s my own fault for making it this hard for myself.

Sleeping is Easy

I just watched Untraceable. Plot: Creepy guy streams live footage of the people he slowly murders. The murder is facilitated by how many viewers hit the website. Diane Lane tries to catch him. And is kind of bad ass. Good thriller if you’re interested.

It’s really disgusting to watch. People visit a website to watch someone die. And after each murder, the hit rate increases faster for the next. Of course, the audience watching the movie is disgusted. I wonder if people who watched this feel just as disgusted by the pictures they look at in newspapers and online. Maybe they don’t feel bad looking at still images. It’s not the same they may say to themselves.

Sometimes I wonder: is it worse being the photographer or the audience? Or are they both equal crimes?

Used To Lay In Bed For Hours

I’ve debated whether or not I should put work up. I really like my project, but I don’t know if it’s really appropriate. You see, I’ve been working on this self-portraiture project about comfort with myself, both physical and emotional. It’s been a journey to say the least. I’m proud of the work, and I want to show it to people, but it’s just so awkward. I’d say more, but it’s 12:09 my time and I want to go to bed. So here.

You Can Put The Past Away

I don’t know if you’ve looked out your window tonight, but from where I’m sitting, the moon is completely swollen and amazing. It’s just a sliver of a quarter moon but you can still see the shadow of the rest. I was driving on the road to my house and it was just stuck among the stars. It was like a giant button. I love it. I read this book when I was younger about a dragon who lives on the moon and a girl who climbed a silk ladder to meet with the dragon. Apparently it’s a Chinese folklore written by white people. I always think about it when the moon seems especially special.

In other news, I still haven’t been to the beach. I miss it. I also miss being tan. I should get on that. Oh, and by the way, I went on a run the other day. Why? I don’t know, because I hate running. I got to my half-way point when my legs started shaking. I remembered how my old softball coach used to say to us “You’ve got the ghost of Elvis in you” after we’d do stadiums. Fucking hated stadiums. Fucking hated that cock shit.

Hopes Were Still Living Deep Inside

Dad: “What are you doing out here?”
Me: “It’s nice outside.”
Dad: “Oh. I guess you’re right.”

Silly people who stay in California. I guess you can’t really appreciate it until you’ve left. I’m so happy here. Is everyone else as happy when they return to California? Because it’s amazing. It’s like I wake up and the morning sunshine says “Hi. Welcome to another day in perfect happy land. I hope I didn’t wake you from a spectacular dream.” And even if it did wake me from a spectacular dream (which sometimes it does), I don’t mind too much because I remember what’s in store for me. There’s the sunshine, the trees, the sky, the food, the sunshine, the food, the trees, the sky, the sunshine, the food.

Now I just have to figure out a way to afford living here after college…

Timorous Me

I just wrote about the word extreme on this website. I was surprisingly entertained for the whole solid minute I had to type. Then afterwards I read what other people wrote. I’ve realized that most people are more thoughtful than I am. Either that or they have more on their minds. Or they just bullshit everything.