Panic and Old Photos

Dreamed I was part of this crew of low-level sorcerers living in an Oakland warehouse. For some reason, I was feuding with various members of this crew and in my usual petty, ridiculous way, determined to fuck them up. Except I couldn’t fuck them up because either they responded to my malign magickings as though they were petty annoyances, slapping them down like gnats or because I simply wasn’t a strong enough magician.

This went on for most of the dream.

At the end of the dream, though, I was sitting in a chaise lounge next to Barack Obama, and he was sitting awfully close to me, thigh brushing thigh, and I was thinking, Whoa! Does Barack Obama like me? Like like like?

And then I woke up.

###

Car fixed, and it wasn’t even that expensive a fix.

Cannot believe I spent two days in a complete panic over this. I knew it was some minor thing. So why was I spinning out of control?

“You were upset? I didn’t know you were upset,” said L.

Of course, you didn't know I was upset. I kept the panic concealed in my interactions with others—which included a breakfast party and a long political discussion with Neighbor Ed—because I don’t believe in taking negative emotions out on innocent bystanders if I can possibly avoid it.

The panic did imbue me with this deep need to paw through old photographs.

One above was taken in 1973 at Max’s Kansas City, my old NYC watering hole. The Wolfman is a mid-tier rock ‘n’ roller whose identity I will conceal because he’s old now and probably has prostate problems. It’s not a modeling picture per se but was taken during the time my modeling career was at its peak.



This one is an outtake from a perfume ad. The art director was enamored with the French New Wave and would have preferred using Antoine Doinel.



Not a model photo, but shot that same year. Can't remember where.