Location blogging #1.

Whelp, here we go.....


Well, I'm now the proud owner of one of these little beauties.



Now I can surreptitiously photo/video scenes, and do mobile blogging.

Hopefully, these will escalate to video ones.
But, for this one at least, I felt a bit nutty talking into my pocket, so I cropped out photos, and and am doing this first one text style.
Easing into it, see...;)

Okay, this corner here?
Had an incident that sticks out in my memory.
I was about, oh...15, 16, it's a bit fuzzy now.
Okay, see up near the upper left corner, right side of the street, that little brown stick?
That's a phone pole.
I was taking a walk, and was right about there, when a fucking pickup truck rolls by, and the back is full of kids, ranging from about oh, 12 to 13 it looked.

They were hooting, and making incoherent remarks, but that tone of voice, it couldn't have been good.

On what amounted to muscle-memory reflex action, I lazily flipped the bird.

We all do it, don't we?
Someone's being a yahoo, we flip 'em off.
Least I do.
A necessary form of release.

Anyway, they drove on, I kept walking, didn't even think about it.

So I get about oh...coming toward you, still along the right side of the road, about where that tree shadow ends.

Fucking truck comes back, kids are gone, and it's clearly the dad of those kids come to bawl me out, and be a redneck bully.

Gives me a barking lecture, says the kids are back home crying, and do I feel sorry for myself, and that I'd better watch myself, and yadda yadda yadda...

And I'm both worried that this yahoo is gonna jump out of the truck and take a swing or something, but at the same time, I'm trying not to laugh hysterically at the notion of 12-13 year old kids CRYING over having seen THE FINGER.

CRYING!!!!!

Over THE FINGER!!!!!

THE FINGER!!!!

I think also a birthday party was involved, and I had somehow utterly destroyed that as well.

So, I act all "golly gee whiz, Mister Cleaver", until this idiot shuts up, and goes away, and then I snuck another bird as he drives off in self-righteous satisfaction.

Thug.

People are fucking lame.

People are fucking dumb.

People are fucking awful.

You're just trying to get down the fucking street, trying to exist, and people brumble and gurgle into frame with their noise, and bullshit, and chest thumping.

Anyway, I wonder how those kids turned out.

Riding stripper poles, dealing drugs, who fucking knows?

If a meaningless raised digit could scar 'em, one really wonders.
The mind fucking reels.

And if they were that innocent and precious, how did they know what the fucking finger meant?

*Head shake*

Redneck bullshit, the whole thing.
Just a thug being a thug, with an embarrassing bullshit story on top.

I bet someone somewhere reading this thinks that animal's reactions were not only justified, but so too would violence.

Fuck you.
You're another dumb ape for the pile.
Finger.

Hate this town.
Gotta get out of here.
Memories like these poke me with a stick.

Here, let's look at something prettier.

I like this stretch of road.
It's desolate, not much traffic.
Nothing that annoyed me ever happened here.
It's why I like to take walks on it.

One wouldn't think one would be able to feel the world closing in with a wide open vista like that.
Somehow, I manage it.

*Grim chuckle*

So, that's location shoot one.

In upcoming ones, I'll go out of my range of comfort in a radius.

Catalog the tableau of American defeat I find around me.
Maybe some beauty too.
It'll be my little "quest for hope", tour.
:)