This Wednsday, I met up with the photographer James Graham who had invited me to his birthday party in Brooklyn. It was good times. He is a gorgeous man with a beautiful personality, I also met fashion photogs Christopher Bush and Marko 'La Seine by the Hudson Kercik', but most importantly, my enigma and someone that I consider a friend after only a few moments, George Pitts. My mind and soul had been running a thousand rpms, and to see/talk to him, it was like I felt like I was having a normal conversation with my mother on a sunday. Pitts breeds a sort of 'it's ok' mentality, you have to experience it my friends. I have been using my tiny apt. in harlem to do impromptu shoots, but my main goal is to spy on george and james, because they are like teachers to me and can show me things, teach me. Just talking to george about bubblegum, I know now better to chew.
mushrooms, exstacy, speed, crack, coke,alcohol, food, sugar rush get me to that point where i dont remember it being a symbol. it wasnt a fucking icon or an idol. today i was in harlem with falcon. she was cool to hang out with. i told her i dreamt the other night on three ambien that i was gipetto and i built a modern day pinocchio, then I immediattely ran to the bar to tell the story, and some fucking asshole friend that always shits on my parade was like "yeah well god did that with adam, and moses" "mary shelley did that shit with frankenstein' and as I was listening, the pinnochio girl was actually my ex hanging in my truck, she looked mad, then she limped over. bored, dead asleep!!
phone calls saving lives, hours long, being swept off my feet. beating hearts, salty seas, bandanas of ice, hours in a hot truck thru deserts, swinging in strangers backyards. girls chopping pills, falling in love, crying in bars, border motels, one more hour in the pool mistuh...please..., and, sacrificing lovers. fools again. running away. innocent. senses.anti depressants. no more film. i dont want to take any more pictures. choices. decision. crying on curbs, smoking ciggarettes. i'm sorry. you are sorry. too much sorry. hopelessness. save me. faith. san francisco and hope. gone.alone in new york. > seattle. london. fuck it. done.
In case some of you guys remember, I stopped taking pictures but I started to build things. I started this on Easter, I was building it for someone. {sorry it wasn't white and red, all i could get was silver and dark cherry}I was looking at possibly going to prison in June, so I had to hurry up, and I spent most of my days in the shop working, throwing away cameras, building parts, etc. This is a foldout polaroid camera that uses Large format instant film by Fuji and Polaroid, it's totally hand holdable and the hot shoe is modern so you can use a flash. I finished it a day before my trial, and sent it out to that person the day after I came back.
Currently I'm building a butterfly knife, and a left handed switchblade for my dad. I was to build a really tight derringer style pistol, but I learned I would have to register it after the fact, and I don't know if I want a gun in the house with my mental health anyways. Actually, I don't know if I'll finish the knife project, I'm currrently looking for a new place to live, so the shop won't be an option except for visits. I'm looking up and down California, maybe even somewhere back east? I don't have roots, so everywhere is an option, everywhere is exciting...
when i started out shooting models, i shot almost everything in infrared.
i sold the camera to a girl who helped me photograph a wedding, that was a crazy day. michael jackson died that day. that was a year ago, and then on the anniversary i saw a courtney love special on VH-one, it was really good, and i've been listening to Live Thru This ever since, such a great album. My favorite rock star was Kurt Cobain. On Tuesday at 6pm, I drove from Napa Valley to Utah. I just won a court case where I thought I was gonna be incarcerated for a year and a half. I'll talk about that more in a different post. That day, was also one of the worst days of my life, and I won't talk about that, except it had nothing to do with court. The night before on Monday I slept in Jail. Somehow my bail was fucked up and I had to spend the nite behind glass doors sharing a room with eight other people with a community toilet in the same room and no doors or walls or whatever. All I could think about was hanging out with this one person in Oakland in march. I was remembering running in the rain barefoot to get bandaids at the nearest cvs. I remember watching the lobsters in the tank at the market in berkeley, and I remember the racoons in the trashcan playing peekaboo with me. I even dreamt about that person.
24hours later, I got my hall pass from the judge, I jumped in my truck, and I headed east. I had no idea where I wanted to go, but I didnt want to go back to Santa Maria, I didn't want to go back to Oakland. I felt free, but lost at the same time. A huge wave of exhaustion hit me in Salt Lake City, and I turned the truck around. This taste of freedom and wind is sweet and bitter at the same time.
I want to continue this story or at least tie up the loose ends/finish on a solid note, my brain is so scattered, fried eggs. I've been on a hard dose of effexor for the last six months, and it feels like I'm getting calloused or adapting to it in a way that doesn't produce linear thoughts, I apologize. If anyone would like to share inspirational thoughts, random messages, vent out some bullshit or whatever, email me nate(at)nathanappel.com or log in and post on the sidebar
in the meantime i'm in a conical zone of depression and i don't know how to get the fuck out. the fuck out...... something emotional is now physical, is now psychological. I want a fucking breather..... a fucking breather.... oxygen in my lungs bitch
