Picture me rollin’ with Eddie’s hair

by shitfiresavematches

It’s 5 in the morning and I am awake. But I did sleep from 7p.m until around midnight so I don’t feel very tired. I could sleep- sure- but I want to have some coffee and take pictures with the sunrise.

Lately the camera has gotten more use and I’ve subsequently opened an Etsy (I’m a little late on this train, I think) shop to start selling a few prints to make some side skrilla while I get better at photography. Eventually I want to pay for snooty classes where I can learn new photography and manipulation techniques.

I have some photos I took years ago I gotta find, too. So far all I have up at my “Etsy store” are some paintings only a mother could love and a few things. Oy vey.

There is an elevated train track near my apartment that isn’t in use. From certain points and parks in the neighborhood, one can climb onto it and walk from one neighborhood to the next along the tracks. It’s pretty cool save for the broken beer bottles and strewn cans. I guess it’s not so bad.

Yesterday our usual get-on spot was blocked by signage with stupid sayings like ‘no trespassing’ and ‘do not enter’. I went over it and ducked onto the tracks only to see construction men to my left and my right. Feeling silly, I dropped to my stomach and took photos of them before leaving.

I ended up walking to Humboldt Park with an adult juice-box in hand and taking pictures of flowers and plants and squirrels and shit.

There are two more finished rolls of film ahead in the queue so I may not see the fruits of my labor for a hot minute.

And another thing.

Why do I feel as though Eddie Vedder has never been justly recognized or revered for being as hot as he was, is, and will continue to be? (George Looney and Barf Pitt are over-rated blowhards.) Good grief, he is gorgeous. I can only imagine burrowing that neck like a little rat and caressing my face throughout his lush mane.

He’s always been easy on the eyes, but now it’s just impressive and makes me feel funny in my bathing suit area. I recently sat through the ‘Hunger Strike’ video from Temple of the Dog a whole bunch of times just to see him; I especially am keen on the way he moves his mouth in it. Can’t take this…

See for yourself:

“La Chevelure”

Long let me inhale, the odour of your hair, into it plunge the whole of my face, like a thirsty man into the waters of a spring and wave it in my fingers like a scented handkerchief, to shake memories into the air.

If you could know all that I see! All that I hear in your hair! My soul floats upon perfumes as the souls of other men upon music.

Your hair contains an entire dream, full of sails and masts; it contains vast seas whose soft monsoons bear me to delightful climates where space is deeper and bluer, where the atmosphere is perfumed with fruit, with foliage and with human skin.

In the ocean of your hair I am shown brief visions of a port resounding with melancholy songs, of vigorous men of all nations and ships of all shapes outlining their fine and complicated architectures against an immense sky where eternal heat languidly quivers…

In the glowing fire grate of your hair I inhale the odor of opium mingled with sugar; in the night of your hair I see the infinity of tropical azure resplendent; on the downed banks of your hair I inebriate myself with the mingled odors of tar, of musk and of coconut oil.

Long let me bite your heavy, black tresses. When I gnaw your elastic and rebellious hair it seems to me that I am eating memories.

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