I’m cleaning up after a storm when I come across a photograph which had been floating, I don’t know,
supertide in supertide out, six hours I guess.
It depicts my wife and a dear female friend of hers,
four by six, full frontal head shot. It’s hanging by a
clothespin as I write. But as I washed it, I use a three
inch foam brush, I studied it.
I admire this friend of my wife, I think she’s a bit
quirky, is that another word for independent?
Then, as you know, your thought expands and I was
thinking I admire all of her female friends, of course
one can separate male admiration into many components.
Women are like diamonds, are they not,
in that they are many faceted.
All this from picking up a slime coated photograph.
It reminds me of a quote from Goethe.
“What is genius, but the faculty of seizing and turning
to account anything that strikes us— every one of my
writings has been furnished to me by a thousand different
persons, a thousand different things”.
Goethe.
Anyway, don’t get me wrong, I’m no fucking genius.
Islander.