I, Priestess (4)

I, PRIESTESS (4)

So, I've made a decision to take control: lean and fit and healthy and well.

You'll find me each morning with chalk on my fingers, hanging from a Beastmaker while the sliced bread singes.

So what if the smoke-alarm's ringing?

I can't be found quitting this crimping or clinging to those (beautifully-carved) wooden jugs. You see, I'm practising learning how to handle pull-ups.

Even if the house is razed to the ground, in the process.

You'll find me each lunch-time eating soup from fresh vegetables. Forcing it down despite each bowl tasting quite terrible. (The midday bevy has been replaced already with carrot juice or a mixed-berry smoothie.)

Then.

You'll find me out front, pumping the tyres on my bicycle. (I have to admit, it leaves me quite miserable. Too many sad memories of good times in the nineties.)

You'll find me in the afternoon, hula-hooping in the back-garden. (Got it off amazon.com. It tones one's lower abdomen.)

And, in the evening.

You'll find me behind the sports centre, slack-lining. (The butt-bounce was tricky; it proved quite demanding, but I managed it in the end.)

And, later.

You'll find me at night, curled up in bed, trying to focus on a some contemporary women's fiction. But, it has to be said, those late night-caps seriously fuck your concentration.

Nescio (24)

NESCIO (24)

You see.

The priestess had originally studied visual literacy (before she got into her idiot prophecies).

Once an avid reader of fictional stories, she'd subsequently turned to the practice of photography as an alternative way of making sense of reality. (She'd been known to quote Bakhtin's Discourse in the Novel - on Skype and Facetime, from her domestic hovel - applying to her medium what the man had to say, albeit in some strange and distorted sort of way.)

At least, it all made sense to the menopausal priestess.

So.

As she traipsed the streets (with blisters on her feet) the priestess cursed Szarkowski: his mirrors and windows. She longed for the days of documentary straight-forwardness. A photographic practice that eschewed self-reflection, nothing to do with a personal inflection. (The priestess still suffered from a deep sense of dejection.)

But, instead of working with the ethics of humanism the priestess now struggled with the vagaries of relativism.

She was starting to feel seriously fucked off.