my bread expires november 31st.
november 31st.

it says so right there on the little sticker.
you know the one, it’s put there by the people responsible for making my bread.

the same people responsible for not killing me with my bread.

and they don’t know how many days are in november.

secondary issue. in programming, when i tell a loop to cease looping upon reaching a value it ceases, but if the value is never arrived at, it goes on infinitely.

so, november 31st is never going to roll around–does that mean my bread lasts forever?

ad bread infinitum? or, conversely was it never best before?

i know this is weak content. i just can’t get over the idea of a grown ass person out in the world, working full time, preparing food for others, with no idea how many days are in the months.

how is it even possible?

x = stupid people.

i find it hard to keep my attention on any one thing these days.

maybe it’s part of the aging process. or my recent illness, or the superbug. or the mind crushing pressure that’s building. or the nagging feeling something is seriously wrong with the direction i’m going.

maybe it’s some of all of the above.

either way, I can’t seem to focus. can’t seem to commit & the cost of that behavior.. well. fuck.

moreover, i think this is one of the steps which precedes the portion of your life where your sleep gets disrupted by three hot drunk chicks and you’re actually.. upset about it.

god. i hope it’s not that serious.

x = doug.

ps. the picture is unrelated, just felt like including one.

back before everything went to shit. before the problems, complications and illnesses (my own and others), I walked for a time on a sunny summer afternoon with my mom. we followed the river’s edge circling around, ultimately, to a sports and recreation center which you see above as the small corner of human input.

using my uber wide 12-24mm again i think i was able to disjoint the sky some. make the angles awkward. capture the spatter of my favorite kind of clouds and in converting it to black and white further simplified the point. which, for me, is the play of light and dark.

but then, that’s always the point for me.

once i wanted to be the greatest.

been some time since we’ve been here together. you & i, all late night and full of a certain unwavering grace. and still, here we are–be we (or the unwavering grace) genuine or simulacra. pay it no mind at all. after all when you close your eyes it could be anyone giving you head.

run with it.

i come here today to give praise to modernity. not the idea, or it’s misconceptions, mind you. rather the alter of modernity which i suppose would be progress. we all have faith in progress and it is that i come praise today.

I feel i ought give praise if for nothing else than teaching some young frenchman how to insert a chest tube and less sexily all the myriad of supporting roles and implements that kept me alive through the great empyema of ought-seven. because, and think this out fully, after that event i can say with certainty that without modern medicine (and clean shaven frenchmen, i spose) that i would have perished. I have officially left my psuedo-normal life course and entered into a gift from medical progress.

it could be argued, badly, that immunization takes us wildly off the planned course–and if i were 70 that argument might apply but i’m not and historically many lived to my current age even without immunization (and, god forbid–Canadian Healthcare). so like i said argued badly.

the crux of this being, of course, that i know with as much certainty as i can that had science (dressed in silly medical garb) not intervened i would have ceased to exist.

and i figure i owe science a big french kiss.

(possibly more depending on if i actually use the extended life for anything more than being tempted by young girls in tight clothing)

(young being a relative term naturally. falling well within the age appropriate taboos and pseudo-fantasies daily provided me by our conventional media, after all a thirty year old girl in pig tails and knee socks isn’t telling us anything about ourselves as a species–okay, fuck, gender then. because women never have such banal thoughts–but i digress.)

and it is with humble heart that i thank the big hairy beast that pollutes my water, soil and air. that kindly mind-giant that entraps me in a tangle of wire and concrete, quickly consuming everything (refactoring) everything it gets its hands on. yes. thank you old beast and thank you to the nazi’s who so clearly don’t get the props they deserve for pushing science forward 30 years–albeit under rather.. questionable terms.

do i mean that or am i testing to see who is still reading this far down by being wilfully inflammatory? you can’t say for sure, but if you’re jewish i think you can still scold me and call me inhuman.

posthuman.

post hymen.

i clearly have not improved my ability to stay on topic.

the verdict today then, was one of muffled optimism. a sweet unidentifiable pocket of goodness remains but seems disinterested in infecting and killing me. so for now it gets to remain there. so my favorite frenchman says.

and my left lung is smaller than judekyle’s penis now. the doc says it will never get back to full size (both his penis and my lung) but that it could be worse.

spoken by someone with two normally sized lungs, i say.

i wasn’t using that 15% of lung anyways. honestly. how much air do i need to sit on my ass all day long?

this shot came early in the day, within a half hour of us getting started and I still hadn’t really worked out my lighting (or the top of her head would be lit better) and I was using my 12-24mm @ about 16mm i think. But what it speaks to is what a natural kara is. Her understanding of the smallest details makes even a very simple–and completely organically arrived at–shot interesting. It’s in the bend of the legs, and the arm down the back. you can’t teach that and it’s a lot of work to try to instruct a model to positions like this.

the color setup and wide angle don’t hurt either.

ps. these photo discussion posts will eventually be moved over to my photo site, but for now..

jennifer garner is not a woman.

she’s more like a memory of some girl i made out with when i was 12.

or some kid from a seventies disney movie–but, um, taller.

with breasts.

damn fine breasts.

and gigantic ears.

i’m just sayin.

sitting here rebuilding my macbook–which apple broke with its most recent update–i’ve been subjected to three Mac commercials.

apple is like a hot bitch. it does whatever it feels like and never takes responsibility.

and you know what happens to hot bitches? they get old and no one want’s them anymore.

you listening apple?

that’s right, you too can upgrade your trendy macbook into a very chic coaster–handy for saving those ikea coffee tables from drink rings and more!

i shouldn’t mock mac users too much since i’m one myself. which brings me to my point.

today apple pushed out an update for tiger known as 10.4.11 and more people than me are discovering after trying to do the update that our machines are gacked.

a $1500 paper-weight. yay.

anyways, you can possibly avoid this fate by running the disk utility before you do the update, but i doubt it. I think they suck cock.

not that theres anything wrong with that.

if it does happen to you–follow this thread (as i am right now) to get back up and running but you best hope you backed up your shit cuz the fix aint pretty.

& yet men covet virgins.

now that we have that bit of cleverness out of the way..

I will lay some insight on you after all. nearly dying is scary. really fucking scary. you can put pec implants on it and dress it in camo, mannin’ it up all you like–but at the heart of things when you share that one moment all humans share at some point (and often more than once) of a real intake of the idea “hey, i’m seriously at risk of not existing” it kinda knocks the wind out of you.

cliche, whatever.

so for the last week, since i went off my antibiotics what’s eating me up is having no idea what might or might not be gathering in my chest cavity. having being around for the draining of 16 litres of full frontal bacterial attack the last time I guess maybe I am over-aware of the possibility of it happening again.

in a few days i go to see the surgeon and he will decide if anything of the infection remains, but in the interim i’m sitting here wondering–without the protective armor of broad spectrum antibiotics, you know?

so maybe i’m a bit freaked out. maybe i’m sensitive about being over-run and digested from the inside out. maybe every ache and pain in that general area reminds me i could be a big strep stew, and maybe that’s fuckin with my head.

maybe i feel like i can’t really make plans till i know what’s going on in there.

like it’s all conjecture up till then.

like i could go in and he could say it’s growing and i could be back in hospital with another fucking chest tube. or, worse he could want to operate to clean it out.

or it could be nothing, it could be dead and gone. healed and right. i just find my mind doesn’t tend to dwell on the possible good outcomes..

finishing that thought.. it’s my thinking, having looked up some old friends on facebook that facebook is bar none the greatest tool of propaganda ever devised. it’s like the best propaganda idea the nazi’s ever had but taken to a whole new level by personalizing it and containing it all together in one place. like a repository of fakeness and psuedo-identity.

brilliant. i’m surprised judekyle hasn’t chimed in about this, big fucking brain that he is.