Mornings. Heavy like a stone. Slow starts and click click click. The ever present thread to the new now, which I can hardly tell from the old then. Click click click, chemicals and scanning is all that keeps me going. I fool myself with creative no through roads. I long for cake and dancing but my militant disciplinarian stiff upper lip refuses me the free expression. But in the park, I can watch. I‘m a voyeur at the end of the world. Have they seen the fucking news? I have and really I don’t care. If we can turn it off we‘ll live forever. Or at least another day. Or maybe we only have a month of Sundays. I hate Sundays but I’ll take it. One of the fish died. He had been sucked into the filter backwards, left dead with a look of disbelief frozen on his tiny fishy face, eyes bulging in the evening light. His companions seemed oblivious. The wee one put the remains in a jar of water. Hopeful, but pointless.
Zenit E / Asahi Super Takumar 50mm 1.4 / Fomapan 400 / Fujifilm Pro 400 H
Moscow July 2020.
Where is Gordypops? 