Sleeping Pill

    Forget the forty -year gap of time that has elapsed since this picture was taken , if you subtract my aunt babysitting me and the vintage Oscar the Grouch slippers, you end up with what essentially I look like at any given time of the day. For me, sleep can happen within minutes of resting my eyes, seconds after sitting on a bed, and precisely upon putting on pajama pants. It has happened while I was in my work clothes , just as it has happened  while I was at work. Laying on the floor to pet the cat is , essentially being passed a metaphorical baton in our sleeping relay race .  When I eventually wake up I am disoriented and confused , having dreamed of things as random as appearing in the credits to the nineteen- eighties sitcom  "It's a Living" alongside the legendary Ann Jillian ,  getting a chance meeting with both Judy AND Audrey Landers , or most commonly, being able to obtain the unobtainable  . Realizing I had not actually found the long out of print compact disc of "After Eight"  by international recording artist Taco is almost as depressing as my desire to find it in the first place, but this realization is generally coupled with my strong urge to urinate, which is infinitely worse. 

    Without my bladder , I could easily slip into a coma, but because of my bladder I could easily slip and piss my pants.  The good news is, should I ever have an accident , I have taken to wearing swimwear in public on a fairly regular basis lately. Starting with one embarrassment and leading to a bigger one, seems to be a trend for me these days. In this particular case,  I had ripped my shorts in public and was forced to change into  the only available alternative, a pair of swim-trunks.  I couldn't help but notice how much cooler and comfortable I was in the bathing suit then I was in the shorts I had on earlier that day , and that was before ever trying them out commando. So, it became a staple in my wardrobe much in the way nylon exercise pants did when I learned they were the most comfortable garment in the world to nap in.  If asked what I am wearing , I have been advised to say I am on my way to the pool, ironically one of the last places I would ever be found , as I am not one to regularly spend time outside at all. 

    Pictures I took of myself years ago suggest I was , at some point somewhat stylish ,or at the very least presented myself as such . A large portion of these were taken in the nineteen- nineties , during an era where my twenties coincided with Atlanta's 24 hour club scene. I felt, if you were going to be exiting a club in broad daylight , you needed to look as good as when you went in the previous night , or at least have hooked up with someone who didn't give a shit at that point either. It's hard to imagine there was a time when I was leaving the house at ten or eleven at night ready to go dancing , when these days I would likely be getting ready for bed at that time . So tired from a day of napping I switch out of my bathing suit and into my pajamas and fall asleep yet again to dream of obtaining the unobtainable - a smaller prostate, clothes that are both comfortable and stylish , and maybe a trip back in time to dance the night away without summoning the sun in the process. 

A Memory Of the Future

     In 1990, my aunt took me on a trip to New York City to encourage my dreams of becoming an artist. For years , my main memory from the trip was when my aunt was unable to get us tickets for a Broadway show and was forced to pick something from off-Broadway instead.  Not having heard of any of them beforehand, she picked one called "Those Were the Days" ,  thinking of the catchy Mary Hopkin song of the same name from when she was a little girl.  Arriving at the theater that night she read from the marquee that it was "voted the best musical off-Broadway" and was confident in having trusted her instincts until I pointed out it actually read "voted the best Yiddish musical off-Broadway".  Over the next two hours , we watched the primarily Jewish audience completely lose their shit at a performance that we could hardly begin to follow. Trusting we had not only seen the best Yiddish musical off- Broadway , but possibly ever , we stopped while we were ahead.

     My aunt has undoubtedly never forgotten that play but generally notes my obsession with taking pictures of porn theaters , sex shops and strip joints to be what has provided the most lasting impression. Looking back, I was in that Robert Mapplethorpe phase that likely no other teenage boy ever has gone through. Like many boys trying to emulate their heroes , I ultimately became my version of who I thought he was. I may not have shared his talent or technique, but I had a camera,  a leather jacket , wavy dark hair and a penchant for eroticism like he did , which was more then enough for a newly-turned eighteen year old boy to have. I certainly did not need his bullwhip for it was enough I already possessed his horns.

     I  remember being surprised by how much film I had shot on that visit .  Maybe even a bit aggravated by it since it caused me to have less film for a more provocative shoot I had lined up for when I came back .  Since the negatives were of places I thought maybe I would combine them with negatives  I had shot of people to make composite photographs. This was , however, a slightly ambitious project for a teenager who lacked any sort of real ambition , so , the negatives were processed but then remained undeveloped for the next twenty-three years . I expected that I would be rolling my eyes and sighing  when I went through them but instead I was able to quickly identify my motivation for every click of the shutter.

    The dumpster with Jessie Helms picture on it taken in response to the Mapplethorpe/ Serrano news of the time.

 
     The infamous off Broadway play "Oh! Calcutta!" often referred to in 70's sitcoms like "Maude" and "Soap". So intrigued by the idea of a live nude show I nearly missed the word "gaiety" off to the right!

      I think I found this particular porn theater interesting because of the Sid and Marty Krofft quality it had - not only  for the overblown peep hole and coins floating above it , but for the underlying plot of being led into a strange new world that is hard to escape.

      I was so obsessed with this ad for Kikit  that I took pictures of it every time we passed it. After I got home to find it in appearing in print I ripped it out of every  magazine I came across. 

      Who wouldn't want some gay's papaya?  At  the very least , you may want to have a taste of their sixty- cent frankfurter.

 
     Radio City Music Hall at Christmastime, or as I  was likely to have called  it..... "RADIO 1990". I just don't pass up chances to bring up Lisa Robinson and Kathryn Kinley.

     The windows at  Betsey Johnson's . I imagine without a model along, mannequins were my substitutes.

    Some perv.

    The Rainbow Room in glorious Black and White.

   

     My aforementioned obsession with pornography. I cannot help but look at these and see equal amounts of seediness and high-glamor!

    I think I liked the idea of a classic scene with a foreground comprised of the filthiest water I have ever seen!

     This I love for the fact the water is the only thing in focus!

      A crazy person preaching some hate . Timeless. 

    Possibly taken for just the little "Tron"-like lights , I actually shot this twice, once before dark and once after ( and obviously the after shot was taken on top of a frame of unadvanced film) . Most notably, the angles are almost identical, despite being taken at different times.
  
    It is one of those things I can never quite explain , that little voice that tells me that it's the right moment to snap a picture. When I look through old pictures I wonder why I was always trying to quickly identify the best picture in the group instead of embracing the fact that every picture that was shot has it's own merit  . My undeveloped negatives can sometimes read like the diary of an undeveloped adolescent. Obviously with growth there is plenty of embarrassment, but sometimes they document the maturity too. These photos have traces of my style, my interest and my sense of humor.    I realize more and more that back then I wasn't really being so much the copy of Mapplethorpe I wanted to be,  as much as the version of myself I didn't quite understand yet . While I eventually stopped wearing the leather, I simply learned how to conceal my horns in my wavy dark hair . As for the little voice, I can still hear it .