Black Spring

I did my first proper shoot for Aaryon yesterday night and am well exhausted, not from the shoot but from the working week. The shoot was smooth, some schoolboy antics and debonair reclining in my latest dressing gown. Very fine stuff. If you haven't checked out what is in store at Aaryon have a peek, the actual site isn't up yet just the dummy page calling for talent and introducing the concept behind it. I think the photos will turn out well however it is a shame I get so tired from work otherwise I'd have looked more fresh and inviting but nothing wrong with looking like a bit of worn leatherette.

I've been somewhat submerged in Miller's "Black Spring", only Henry could devote two or three pages purely to the joy of pissing, "I am a man who pisses largely and frequently, which they say is a sign of great mental activity". He tells of the public urinals he actually goes out of his way to visit, just to enjoy a piss and it seems have some woman looking out of her window at him. I was reading "Black Spring" on the tram and the conversations that were breaking around me were driving me bonkers, it was almost as if Douglas Adam's statement had been written for this exact moment ...

"If human beings don't keep exercising their lips, he thought, their mouths probably seize up. After a few months' consideration and observation he abandonded this theory in favor of a new one. If they don't keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working." - Douglas Adam's Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

I was getting a bit of a headache and feeling like yelling out "Shuuuuuut-uuuuuup". There is sometimes pleasure to be had in listening in to people's conversations but the babble that was going on around me was as if people had decided to congregate solely for the purpose of spitting sounds at each other. It was going to be a long ride and I winced every time people sat next to me, one girl chomping through a packet of crisps like a bum ferreting through a garbage can, a group of boys slapping each other and tinkling with their mobile phones, but at least it wasn't as bad as the guy I once had hop on the tram next to me practicing or using his chanting for some purpose, he looked like a K-Mart clothed version of Cat Stevens only anal-retentive in the way he had his collared shirt tucked tight into his jeans and his back-pack propped up high. He opened the tram window and began chanting out of it, his beard and long black curly hair clearly shaped to compose such guttural grunts - I felt like saying to him that his meditations may be settling his troubled mind but they were sure unsettling me - but back to the recent tram ride ...

I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the words of Henry Miller, his stream of printed piss glazing my perceptions and lulling me away from the bustling nonsense around me. Not that I was completely following everything Miller was saying, it was more having an intelligible rabble going on in my head rather then the bubble-gum popping and squeaking around me. So I am finding Miller useful and enjoyable at the moment, and I was thinking about what he wrote, about leaving a scar on humanity, and that felt appropriate.