I do have a spiritual center, and I know it very well. It is time that I stop ignoring it and return to it. Chicago was a detour; my life still takes me to the desert and to the mountains, and I still smell yesterday’s salty openness on the wind.

Sometimes you have those days or nights during which nothing that you can name to anyone happens, but it seems as though an immense shift or two has happened nonetheless. A tough, loud, strange couple of days (and nights).

Last night in particular. I don’t know how many times I’ve almost launched a browser and made a post, only to stop myself. Ultimately, at the end of it all, there just isn’t anything ot say. There never is.

—

I begin to get excited about moving to NYC and the possibility of living in Manhattan. This is the the first time; until now I’ve been at best lukewarm on the subject, seeing it as something that must be done, rather that something that I want to do.

—

I’m going to be working on converting from Greymatter to something else. Hosts are increasingly unhappy with CGI-based websites, as is seen by the decline in Greymatter and Moveable Type sites. WordPress and PHP, sometime in the next couple of months.

In the meantime I’m not doing a lot of shooting, but I’m doing a hell of a lot of photo processing, in an attempt to get some kind of prints store up and running and also get most of my work on Alamy, where I will be focusing my efforts in months to come.

—

Sometimes I miss Chicago.

Sometimes I actually see things as they are, and it depresses me.

The trick is never to face your past—even your recent past. The past holds nothing but traps and traitors. Maybe someday I’ll get to a better place. I used to be a person that directed hate outward in all directions. Now that I’m “older” and more mature, it mostly sits inside and ages, dissolving my stomach lining in the process.

Make no mistake, though, the hate continues to build. Hate for hypocrites, for selfish people, for consumers, for idiots, for the willfully deluded, for those that have hurt me, knowing that they have hurt me.

—

I wonder what happens next.