Polaroid Dreams

The beauty of a polaroid is that it provides you with the instant gratification you need, yet it cannot fully capture the detail and full depth of the image. It serves merely as a vague visual reminder of the moment, but without the extra-sharp-crystal-clear-megpaixels to give you such easy remembrance of all details. The polaroid forces you to remember all the nuances, and smells, and taste for yourself. You have to keep those colors and patterns deep in your womb, the photograph will not let you know those underground secrets when you look at it later on. A polaroid allows you to keep your memory of the belly of that moment, rather than erase it, and rely on a photography crutch to secure your favorite moments for the future. A polaroid reminds you that the glory was in the midst of those times, not the reminiscing you will do for a lifetime after. The meat is in the moment. You'll never have that same one again. And you can't fix the angle or the lighting, you can't smooth the lines in your face, or alter the red eye, or change the poor posture or pose. All of the nuances, the most beautiful and the most grotesque are there in 3.5 x 4.25 inches for you to accept, as they are, as they always will be.

The polaroid speaks truth, while allowing you to remember all the rest, without imposing it upon you.

L-R
1. Old Love
We are graced with lovers for some reason that I have yet to understand. But I do know in every other body that is intertwined with yours, you find a mirror of yourself. All the ugly habits and exceptional ones are brought up from the bowels of the solitary life, and rage through your days in all their fury. You discover how stellar the human spirit can be, and how equally horrific. There is God in two hands together, and the right man with the right woman (or man and man/woman and woman). The universe reaches it's balanced orbit, and the constant motion and noise all cease. You become one with the other, you become a "we." We is the place to be. There's no question about that. And this new state where two merge into one, likely will not last, so dig deep as long as you're there. Be there while you are there, worry about all else later. We cannot build sustainable homes unless we throw our stakes deep, and pound the hammers even harder. When the body breaks, the soul runs free. So, be it this way. What will be, will ever be.

2. Rejoining .... Rejoice!
Winter erupts in New York. The first snow fall is always the most beloved. As if it purifies the bastardly dirty grounds below, as if it erases all the contours and shapes, all the mistakes, cracks, imperfections,
and gives the whole land free reign to be something new, something much better. I was somewhat resentfully making my 20 minute march to the subway from my home. Any walk longer than 5 minutes becomes an effort, breaking sweat on one's brow and nurturing calouses on the arch of your feet in their snow-boot armor. But the little graces get the best of even the day's worst pessimist. Every stepping-crunch of the snow started to fall in place with the next and it grew into it's own rhythm, it's own heartbeat. I fell in love with that snow, and the calouses would come later, they didn't bother me now. I watched every step, eye to toe, and saw this pattern upon me. The place I was, this asymmetric pattern I was walking in, yet was not previously conscious to. My steps were far away from all the others. They were rounded, with no equation, no straight line in sight. They were just dancing around in their very own rhythm, completely oblivious to the dozens of feet that had passed before. And when those feet were full of dancing by themselves, they continued in their line-less motion and rejoined the steps of all the others. To take part, to share in the discoveries they found while dancing freely in their solitary journey. We all join back together at some point, however distant and erratic our individual sojourns may have been.

3. Old Friend
Stu and I met at years ago at the late Ichabods, Baton Rouge's hometown refuge for budding musicians and degenerates alike. A British accent comes with it's assumptions in a town that only knows the colloquial sounds of 'coon-ass,' 'trailer park trash,' or your garden variety 'southern' tongue. Stu was an exchange student from the UK and was an exotic creature in this land, with rounded inflections, a gregarious disposition, and strong inclination to employ the word "cheers" without reserve and on a regular basis. He also called the bathroom the "loo," which is a terribly endearing way to refer to the ceramic hole in which every drunk bastard's bodily expulsions would be emptied into by the end of the night. I figured any person who can make a toilet sound endearing, must be pretty special. I was a kid, merely 18. Was about to embark on my first self-routed 'tour' 'round this great country of ours, and I had yet to find someone to go with me. Was planning on brining my long-term love, but he had recently left the picture. I had my clean slate and all of the searching and idol time that the solitary soul finds when their love has suddenly flown. I was a lonely kid with big ideas, and I needed someone to come along for the ride. I had left this undetermined person to present him/her-self as appropriate. A big leap of faith, considering tour was about a week away. But synchronicity, having it's way, poured Stu and I drinks until closing time at Ichabod's that night. And if I remember correctly, by the next time I saw him I asked if he wanted to join me on the tour. He obliged, and that was that. Stu was supposed to be going back home, but re-booked his ticket, and took up the spare bedroom in my shabby two-bedroom apartment just off campus for the week before we headed out. I remember drinking pounds of tea. Between my friend Ken (who was a British South African and drank tea like a poor man drinks PBR), and Stu, I think I drank more tea in that week than I did in the 17 years previous. The habit has stuck with me to this day, always a reminder of these friends in far away places. A reminder of how we all live within each other once our paths have crossed. This is the first time I've seen Stu since that tour, over 4 years ago. He's managed to keep up with me cross-country, many addresses, and even more telephone numbers. Was as if we didn't miss a thing, picked back up where we left off. He still calls the bathroom the loo, and I'm still just as amused by it.