On Photography
Finding the Muse
Old Diogenes knew nothing about photography.
The music lampooned off the wall in thunderous beats. The crowd made a common noise in the proportion of concrete decibles. Somehow nothing seemed clear. Even the stagelight swiveled in nasty confusion
That was when Harry waxed his most eloquent best. Over his martini he began some comment of the "American way" in his usual in your face assault, to some dusky stranger of mid 7th century descent. Now Harry is a marine, well built and in perfect shape. He's able to take care of himself. I was watching his eyes as they momentarily turned to the door, and then returned to pounce his subject with an even more emphatic barrage of words. After a drink or two, Harry can get a little loud and belligerent.
I had followed his eyes to the door.
At
that moment she walked in. Tall. Gorgeous. Blond hair flowing like
silk, legs a mile long, eyes blinking in the dimness, face
sparkling irresistable attraction. She seemed pure fantasy,
the object of every man's dream. I heard her heels scratch the floor as
she stepped, heals despite
the noise all about me. At least for a second, everything went flat.
I had a gig for this agent in town
picking up chicks for some world renown lensman. I sorta made a
career of late looking and dropping cards on potential models. And Lord
knows, at
75 bucks a connection, I had do a lot more connecting, as
my last greenback was in the drink before me. But this girl was
different, she caught my attention and held it a long time, I was
immediately
disarmed, I stuttered and my jaw must have dropped, for she was the
real thing, not like the painted ponies with which I usually did
business. Eyes wide and mouth open, I
stared.
I must have been lost in space a
good five minutes, when the guy beside me ribbed me with a force that
would knock even a big boy flat. I was awakened to the real world where
the falafel guy was making mincemeat of Harry, and there were two or three on him,
a whole horde of them. Stunned, I took a quick
momentary glance again behind, seeing the girl retreat our the door,
before jumping into the fray to to save my friend.
More serious business, I ran to the door only to see my Muse gone with no trace to be found. I ran outside, ...nothing, though Her fragrance lingered and the shape of her figure echoed in my memory. I looked side to side and around. Nothing. Nothing Nothing. Lights flashing, Bright yellow taxies. Empty. Nothing. No pumpkin, no horses, no wild charioteer. I turned back inside, and looking down there were these crystal heels shining in the light like little glass lenses...
© 2006 Timothy Martin Gillan
Photography
