you think more, you ruminate, chew the cud of yourself.
GEE, why am i so unfortunate? why did I get myself into all these THING
S
THESE THINNGGGGS
yes.
Rushing rushing rushing now to a motorcycle accident
one of the first days of your photography internship
ORIGINALLY commissioned to walk around a nearby campus, gathering images of overgrowing weeds.
o v e r g r oo ooo w ing
Your partner, who remarks at plants and burning bushes--at first you think he is convinced of theophany.
Oh look, it's a burning bush!
giggle with a knowing giggle to vibrate social cues.
you don't know how to identify the bush he's referencing at all until
you don't know how to identify the bush he's referencing at all until
he sees another one, this time POINTING OUT the SPECIFIC CHARACTERISTICS:
LESS LIKE THIS
this was it.
And I laugh at my prior minutes musing on Moses and I think he may be Moses but really he just is very familiar with horticulture. He worked in a nursery.
Oh, like, the plant one. Not babies.
And we're tumbling on weeds and taking photos because THAT ANGLE when on your knees my GOD
he gets a call: okay, motorcycle accident at the meeting of South Street and Mary Jemison Drive.
Cuylerville Road, which turns into 39.
it was hard, but not as hard as I thought.
The man on the motorcycle must have been unconscious during our first 15 minutes there; I didn't hear a word from him. Paramedics were sharp in their hovering.
I say sharp because they were not merely hovering, like
Ethereal, Oil on Canvas by Simon Kenny
The man on the motorcycle must have been unconscious during our first 15 minutes there; I didn't hear a word from him. Paramedics were sharp in their hovering.
I say sharp because they were not merely hovering, like
we
were. They seemed to be running by a script, but they were moving. With notebooks and pens, Moses and I shared a Canon, still; moving enough just to click.
I felt myself very much INSIDE yet ON THE FRINGES OF the PHOTOJOURNALISTIC DILEMMA; the ethics that sucking teeth question in front of journalists; I was now that object but I didn't feel so ridiculed or so w r ooo o ng.
It was not so wrong. But
It was not so wrong. But
feeling sedentary in the emergency
your knees not dancing to the sirens were filthy
cacophonies
Moses was calm; everyone was calm. Chiefs and sheriffs waved to him--they respected his work. As the newest extension of the publication I felt accepted from a distance. WE were sharing something, after all; HUMMING,to the moment of impact in its debris.
The dent in the front left of the truck provided overture
And oh god so did his screaming when he woke up
That was when i felt it appropriate to say Oh God and feel it
and I felt it
but also clam
He screamed "get me out of here!":
patches and shots on the asphalt.
A woman had been there up to that point, removing her shirt to mend open skin GET ME OUT
OF HERE!
She lost her car key on the way, running.
I saw her searching for it and followed her, thinking I might ask her a couple of questions regarding the EVENT, EVEN get a quote.
But we just roved around, our heads down. She told me it was o.k.
I didn't have to keep looking.
My god she was calm in all this, even after stripping her gray sweaty t-shirt in front of small town safety officials for a motorcyclist she was on the way to see;
she was on the way to see him.
seeing other's agony, hearing it.
get me out of here
get me out of here get me
out.
it removes whatever started today's own.
AND NOT BECAUSE I WAS comparing
I was not giggling smiling snapping misfortune contests
the call away from theophanies was just enough to remind that your hair is not burning at all
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