(no subject)
I said that I might have more to say about Katie’s death. I do and I have the pictures to prove it.
Going in, I wanted the date to have documentary component. In some ways I knew that it was going to be something that happened once, an experience that I would look back on and be able to say something interesting about, or, it would be mildly depressing and I would regret it. If it was to be part of the regret, I figured, at least I would have something to remind me how this time fit into a semi-compulsive pattern of seeking out these types of individuals.
So, I brought two disposable cameras; one for me and one for her. We were, I instructed her (not suggested), to take pictures of what we do, be spontaneous. We should switch cameras so often that we forget whose camera is whose and at the end of the night it won’t matter which one each of us is left with. It turned out, however, that we only switched once and prior to the switch we utilized the camera (rather unadventurously) to take pictures of the other person.
This means that I ended up with the camera that she had; I ended up with the camera that primarily contained pictures of moi. Pictures of me with recently dyed hair, black as night; Elvis black:
As you can see it was raining. I said that, but again, it is raining. And here, in spirit of my favorite kind of food, Ethiopian goodness, is a photo of our meal:
Last night I was eating at Zemam’s, enjoying the combination plate (7,8,15), and I let slip that “this place in Tempe, Lali Bella, is better.” At a nearby table a middle aged lady-hair in a bun-gave me a look like “remember where you are child.” I thanked her with my eyes, thinking of how I had to remind myself of the same thing during my date with Katie. It was definitely restrained Jeff, quiet Jeff, Jeff who looks and listens.
There were only 14 pictures from our date and looking through them I’m reminded of how a different girl gave me the idea of going on a date like this. She was in the same grade as Katie, could very well have known Katie (was at one point using Heroin as Katie was). We hung out once and we took pictures in downtown phoenix; they were disappointing. Her brother was the same age as me.
I thought how great, how freeing, and how telling an activity it is to take pictures. You can learn so much about someone by what they decide to take a picture of, but the subsequent discussion of why was lacking with Katie and this other, nameless, girl. Maybe I could say something interesting if I lined up the photos she took of me and examined my expressions, carefully noting what sort of act she might of saw in my features, my movement. But probably, I feel, not; it was just two people sort of intrigued by each other, one of whom thought he was in love with an acquaintance of the other.
The first of the two pictures I took is of her in the movie theatre. She had no idea I was going to take it and I didn’t bother looking through the view finder. I guessed, flashed, making sure to get an interesting, distorted low angle shot:
This picture is not interesting, it’s stale. But the second one I took, or told her to take with the camera I had, turned out better. It tells, more honestly, I believe, how we, as isolated individuals on an uncomfortable date, were feeling. We could never look at each other this way; she had a nervous smile all through dinner, and I had the shy, everyman look complete with shrugging shoulders.
Notice how conflicted the shot makes Katie. Positioned in front of me, foregrounding my darker face, she is emphasized, lighter. Though she could be described as radiant, the shine is harsh; you can see the pink under her eyes. While it seems like she might be trying to look natural, unafraid of the camera, she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Where are her cheekbones? And there is an unflattering reflection on her lips.
And there I am, in the middle ground, with a blackened background that my hair seems to borrow from. I look sneaky, my green/blue eyes colorless. The way the corners of my mouth curl up, one could say I was feigning a coy slyness. The tie thrown back, though I had been doing it all night, reveals a confident looseness. This looseness is contrasted in her pale disorderliness. The flash reveals in her face, and consequently between the two of us, a shiny disconnection. Something slippery that we got stuck in; surface and superficial.
But you still know that she is pretty. The earrings look great on her, I want to say she has an Egyptian-like quality to her, definitely something exotic. The paralleled lines of the bridge of her nose, her smooth skin, and easy sloped jaw convey a sense (perhaps a waning sense) of coherent form. It is definitely not a boring picture, though I think she is infinitely more interesting in this photo.
I like this photo a lot. It reminds me neither of a regret like I thought it might, nor a testament of an altogether provocative evening. I think it very accurately bears witness to the tension that neither one of us wanted to acknowledge, the tension between the confusing intrigue of our myriad connections and a repulsion between our respective emotional stages in life.
Going in, I wanted the date to have documentary component. In some ways I knew that it was going to be something that happened once, an experience that I would look back on and be able to say something interesting about, or, it would be mildly depressing and I would regret it. If it was to be part of the regret, I figured, at least I would have something to remind me how this time fit into a semi-compulsive pattern of seeking out these types of individuals.
So, I brought two disposable cameras; one for me and one for her. We were, I instructed her (not suggested), to take pictures of what we do, be spontaneous. We should switch cameras so often that we forget whose camera is whose and at the end of the night it won’t matter which one each of us is left with. It turned out, however, that we only switched once and prior to the switch we utilized the camera (rather unadventurously) to take pictures of the other person.
This means that I ended up with the camera that she had; I ended up with the camera that primarily contained pictures of moi. Pictures of me with recently dyed hair, black as night; Elvis black:
As you can see it was raining. I said that, but again, it is raining. And here, in spirit of my favorite kind of food, Ethiopian goodness, is a photo of our meal:
Last night I was eating at Zemam’s, enjoying the combination plate (7,8,15), and I let slip that “this place in Tempe, Lali Bella, is better.” At a nearby table a middle aged lady-hair in a bun-gave me a look like “remember where you are child.” I thanked her with my eyes, thinking of how I had to remind myself of the same thing during my date with Katie. It was definitely restrained Jeff, quiet Jeff, Jeff who looks and listens.
There were only 14 pictures from our date and looking through them I’m reminded of how a different girl gave me the idea of going on a date like this. She was in the same grade as Katie, could very well have known Katie (was at one point using Heroin as Katie was). We hung out once and we took pictures in downtown phoenix; they were disappointing. Her brother was the same age as me.
I thought how great, how freeing, and how telling an activity it is to take pictures. You can learn so much about someone by what they decide to take a picture of, but the subsequent discussion of why was lacking with Katie and this other, nameless, girl. Maybe I could say something interesting if I lined up the photos she took of me and examined my expressions, carefully noting what sort of act she might of saw in my features, my movement. But probably, I feel, not; it was just two people sort of intrigued by each other, one of whom thought he was in love with an acquaintance of the other.
The first of the two pictures I took is of her in the movie theatre. She had no idea I was going to take it and I didn’t bother looking through the view finder. I guessed, flashed, making sure to get an interesting, distorted low angle shot:
This picture is not interesting, it’s stale. But the second one I took, or told her to take with the camera I had, turned out better. It tells, more honestly, I believe, how we, as isolated individuals on an uncomfortable date, were feeling. We could never look at each other this way; she had a nervous smile all through dinner, and I had the shy, everyman look complete with shrugging shoulders.
Notice how conflicted the shot makes Katie. Positioned in front of me, foregrounding my darker face, she is emphasized, lighter. Though she could be described as radiant, the shine is harsh; you can see the pink under her eyes. While it seems like she might be trying to look natural, unafraid of the camera, she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Where are her cheekbones? And there is an unflattering reflection on her lips.
And there I am, in the middle ground, with a blackened background that my hair seems to borrow from. I look sneaky, my green/blue eyes colorless. The way the corners of my mouth curl up, one could say I was feigning a coy slyness. The tie thrown back, though I had been doing it all night, reveals a confident looseness. This looseness is contrasted in her pale disorderliness. The flash reveals in her face, and consequently between the two of us, a shiny disconnection. Something slippery that we got stuck in; surface and superficial.
But you still know that she is pretty. The earrings look great on her, I want to say she has an Egyptian-like quality to her, definitely something exotic. The paralleled lines of the bridge of her nose, her smooth skin, and easy sloped jaw convey a sense (perhaps a waning sense) of coherent form. It is definitely not a boring picture, though I think she is infinitely more interesting in this photo.
I like this photo a lot. It reminds me neither of a regret like I thought it might, nor a testament of an altogether provocative evening. I think it very accurately bears witness to the tension that neither one of us wanted to acknowledge, the tension between the confusing intrigue of our myriad connections and a repulsion between our respective emotional stages in life.