A dreamy life

Posted on by
Reply

Self-portrait in blue

A friend of mine has lately taken to the phrase, “The gloves are off!” Followed by something along the lines of, “NOW we’re going to get down to it!”

I am saying here to you something similar, but without aggression of any sort; I have no reason for any. Instead, I am saying, “Here, let me take off my mittens. I’ve been baking cookies. Please, come in. I have much to tell you.”

So let me bring you up to speed a little.

For the past three years, I have excelled at doing nothing in particular. I mean… I have EXCELLED beyond any normal measure of anyone in this capacity. While I have excelled at doing this, practically as a career, it has (maybe not so surprisingly) not paid the bills so well. Imagine that.

Yes, I am a photographer. And yes, my work has gained a certain amount of popularity and/or notoriety. But until fairly recently, I have done pretty much nothing to promote my work or services. I get random work here and there related to photography/videography/writing. Prints get purchased from time to time. But I haven’t made any real effort to promote myself as a photographer. I don’t work as a club photographer. I don’t shoot for a magazine. I have worked almost entirely for myself, shooting what I want. I left a six figure job in corporate America and have worked my way into becoming the stereotypical starving artist.

I still get emails asking for advice on how to be successful. I read those and I laugh inside because I think the author and I probably have differing notions about success, though I would certainly count myself as successful. More in the living-life-and-making-memories category, though, than the financial category.

I was telling a friend the other day that I am living life on the edge of a sword. One with meticulously detailed engravings that some dork somewhere would probably care about. And it is true. My life runs along the edge, and life on this edge seems so extreme, so bizarre, and so utterly impossible at times. And it feels that at any moment, I can fall to either side.

My middle way is keeping balance with extremes.

It is like I am happily laying out with friends on the sundeck of a ship that is sailing through a rough storm. Yet somehow, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and there are smiles all around. Aware of the storm surge below, and yet making the most of it. But even still, on this ship that rocks in this sometimes treacherous sea, it can be a particularly strenuous effort to get even the simplest of things accomplished. Case in point: I just, rather randomly, landed TWO jobs related to my unique skill set. I don’t want to talk about them in too much detail as they are both still being reeled in. One of them is particularly wily, although I have the job. It’s just that it came up unexpectedly and I’m wearing socks on a waxed deck as I bring it onto the boat.

But who would’ve imagined? A good friend of mine yesterday said, “Wow. Scott has a job. You HAVE to let ME tell the neighbors.” It’s THAT unusual for me to have something that can be called a job. Yeah.

The news of the first job excites me for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is what I’ll be doing: I will be working with Scooter, doing delivery for a well-known South Beach restaurant. Specifically, we’ll be doing short runs in a tight area. Awesome, awesome, awesome. I start officially on Monday, although I did one short run yesterday. I have GOT to be one of the most qualified people ever to deliver on a scooter despite having zero delivery experience. THIS is work I can happily do. Scooter and I work well together. So this will be great.

The second job… the details should be wrapped up early this week. Another opportunity which I am soooooooo very excited about it. I’ve sent the contract is in so it’s just a matter of it being finalized. I can’t wait to tell you about it.

Anyway, this is a good life. It’s been reallllly, really good. And now, the jobs that I have taken will allow me to further pursue this life and to follow these dreams which I have had. They fill in the necessary gaps. And hopefully, with what I’m doing now, I can really begin to make a difference. I’m in a place now where I need financial backing to make some things happen and voila. Here it is. This is a dream life.

Video un/related.

Another life lived.

Posted on by
4

Book, #81

Bleak House by Charles Dickens. THAT was the book he had with him.

Hello Scott,

I have had an unexpected issue this morning around 10:30. I was awoken by a police officer. He was actually decent with me. He said there’s been a complaint by someone from the condo building about someone sleeping or camping out. The officer says he knows I’ve been here for awhile and that I’m a good person. He asked if I could just choose different locations on the beach so that it doesn’t reflect on him. Because he apparently had the call this morning, he asked if I could relocate now. He then took off heading back south and did not come back ( like to check up ). I actually moved my stuff down about a block and closer to the shore, then fell back to sleep after a bit of frazzled and discombobulated reflection on what just happened.

The officer did say that it was not illegal for me to be out on the beach but that with my stuff and all, it can be considered camping. Actually Scott, families often come to the beach with tons of stuff including tents and very large tents and lots of food and alcohol which is the closest I compare to camping. Alcohol on the beach is also considered illegal.

I’m also wondering about a large tent about 1 and a half blocks south of where I am, and is situated in the sand dunes ( but quite visible ) AND was there the past two nights, wasn’t the the real reason for the call. I had seen a young dark-haired light skinned guy today leave from the beach chair to the tent in the dunes and disassemble his tent in the afternoon after I woke up finally. It’s really odd that he wasn’t observed by the officer or….. . It’s more of a penalty to be in the dunes, which are apparently protected.

Really I don’t know quite what to think or do about this. It’s getting harder to be in peace around here these days. I’m not doing anything bad. I mind my own business, read, listen to radio, listen to my podcasts, fiddle with my pod and always keep my general area clean. How can anyone’s word that another’s doing something illegal, even when one is not, be taken as a matter of truth ( with no proof ) then told to do different or possibly face arrest. It’s also not fair that I can’t see nor know who made the call, therefore I can’t make a false call about them doing something illegal ( which is more likely true anyway ). Pardon my saying but, what a p#ssy !! When whomever it is cannot even present his or herself.

This is a perfect example of “classism” . When someone’s word counts with the police over another’s, just because they live in an expensive condo and the other doesn’t. Being homeless does not mean one has less rights. When will we stand up as a society against this barbarism ? I don’t mean violently either. There are examples much worse than mine too. Actually, when it comes down to it, at this rate of mindset, we all potentially can be put down and f#cked over by another person who has more money and/ or connections than us.

So just to let you know Scott, there’s a possibility I can be arrested tonight or in coming days depending on these pre-mentioned conditions. I’m just not sure what I will do or where exactly I will finally lay my head for the night. I feel like I might be able to talk to the officer if he awakens me again ( because like I said, he was decent with me over something he apparently is pressured to enforce ). I might ask him why he can’t call back to the station and say he checked out situation and didn’t see anything illegal going on ( because I’m not doing anything illegal ). See, I still think he could be doing more on my behalf. It’s not at all legal under our constitutional rights and it’s not pro-humane. Then again, we are always denying or very uncomfortably detaining people for long periods ( jails and prisons ) in this country before they are proven innocent. Then, there are often complications due to our records not gotten to for years. It goes on and on. The only hope I can impart before I finish this anecdotal incident is that I do feel some positive change is occurring, and it feels galactic. Something to do with it being now the age of Aquarius. This does not mean that people will have an easy ride. It means that more can be accomplished with less. For example, if people will only verbally speak up, it would be even more powerful than taking up their guns.

I leave you here with that. Thanks Scott, thanks again for such humane and kind words in your last note. I shall re-read to make sure I respond adequately soon. This situation has just consumed me today and even impeded my getting to the food benefit office.

Peace and blessings infinitely, Anonymous

I will be starting a new website in the near future which will be giving a voice to the homeless in South Beach. My friend who sent me this message will be writing there, providing a gonzo-like view into the homeless situation in South Beach as well as whatever he sees fit to write. I will be contributing as well, in addition to at least one other writer. Hopefully, there will be more. We’re working out some details.

I think you will want to stay tuned for this.

The cemetery

Posted on by
Reply

…nobody ever comes out. A short video for your perusal.


(As always with video, strongly suggest viewing full-screen and making sure you wait for it to load.)

Photos, music, editing: me.

The photos were taken Saturday at the City of Miami Cemetery. These photos, along with the rest taken that day can be viewed in the City of Miami Cemetery Collection. Here is one of my favorite photos from the day.

Cemetery, no. 979

Sunrise

Posted on by
Reply

Casting at sunrise, no. 594
Last night, I met with a homeless friend of mine, Mr. J. We had planned to meet Monday, but some last minute issues for him kept us from getting together. Great guy and I always love sitting around talking with him. Bright, passionate, and ridiculously well read. Every time I see him, he has some literary classic in hand. Last night, it was Dickens.

I was meeting with him to talk specifically about what we could do to bring about change, to help the homeless in South Beach and what he saw as some of the bigger issues. He’s been living on the streets for years now. This was the first of hopefully many meetings that we’ll have to specifically talk about this topic. Usually, we just talk about life, what’s going on, etc. But last night’s conversation was different. It was… with purpose.

I don’t have immediate answers or solutions on how exactly I can make a difference (apart from what I’m already doing), but we’re starting. We have ideas and that’s the good thing. And by we, I mean this nice little inner circle I seem to have developed. People from various walks of life who bring something altogether different to the table. All of them brilliant. All of them well-read. And all of them passionate. ( I bring the camera to the table. :) )

I hope that, pooling our resources, we can work this out. I have a good feeling about it. We all do, actually. Drawn to each other like moths to light. (Does it end well for moths? God, I hope so.)

———————————————————————-

I’ve found my niche here. After years and years and years on this planet, I’ve found something that I’m good at and it brings me happiness that something I can create… something I can capture…can move people on occasion. I like that the work I do can reach out and touch someone.

Here’s a video from a few mornings ago. It was a sunrise that I saw. A sunrise after a sleepless night at the hostel. I can’t remember why I didn’t sleep that night. Oh, right. I remember. Highly recommend watching it full-screen and in HD. There are details that are worth seeing. :)

As always, video, photos, music by me.

Photos from that morning, like all sunrise photos, are in The Sun Also Rises collection. If you’d like to buy a print of any, by all means, do. Twenty-five percent of all revenue from the sale of prints, I’m donating directly to Miami Rescue Mission (which helps combat homelessness in South Beach and Miami in addition to providing a slew of other services for battered women and children). An additional twenty-five percent I’m donating to Boy’s Club. More detail here.

Side note while it’s in my mind: Apparently, an ordinance was passed not that long ago that makes sleeping on the beach illegal. My friend, Mr. J, was sleeping there. Now… now, he stays awake until after sunrise. His nights are sleepless.

Nothing beats a good night’s sleep.

Good living and the undead.

Posted on by
Reply

We sit on the beach on his towel. A cluster of smallish white clouds hover directly over us. We talk about life, the meaning of it all, and the peculiar nature of how lives cross one another. I have found a good friend in Mark. In the background, the waves roll quietly onto a darkened shore, the club music from Nikki Beach rumbles across the sand, and laughter drifts north to us from a small group of young people as they enjoy this night on the beach.

This is a good life and we are living it, we acknowledge.

Treasure hunters
It is 10pm on a Saturday night. There are two men waist-deep in the water in wetsuits. Bright lights affixed to their foreheads shine into the sea-green ocean to aid them as they search for treasure. While we’ve sat here (both of us being men of a certain age), the treasure hunters have slowly worked their way down toward us from about one hundred yards north. It has taken them an hour, possibly longer, to move that distance.

I walk to the water’s edge and ask how it is going.

“Any luck tonight?”
“Not too much,” comes the reply.

We talk for a minute, the man closest to the shore and I.

I walk back to the towel and sit down, my bare feet now wet and sandy. Mark and I smoke more cigarettes, talk more about the poverty that is so prevalent in South Beach. The subject of my friend that I had introduced Mark to earlier in the night comes up again.

“I feel awful. If there’s one person I don’t want to disappoint, it’s him.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about it. I think you worry too much.”

(I’m an awesome paraphrasologist AND a fantastic inventor of words, by the way.)

We leave shortly afterward and part ways. He goes back to his truck to sleep for the night, I go to the hostel. I’m not there for sleep, though (which would work itself out that way anyway). I’m there to work on photos. We had been out earlier in the evening to watch the zombie flash mob that slowly materialized on Lincoln Road. Slowly, coincidentally, seems to be the only way a zombie flash mob can truly materialize. At some point, it became the running of the zombies on Lincoln Road as blood-and-gore-covered zombies dashed down the south side of the pedestrian street, passing the very non-zombie-ish BCBG as well as all of the other numerous posh stores that line the road.

Mark and I had fallen behind. We weren’t concerned. We had seen zombies before and the novelty was starting to wear thin. We made an effort to catch up and that’s the exact moment when we ran into Mr. J.

“Mr. J, I’d like you to meet my friend Mark.”

Handshakes, smiles, greetings.

Mr. J then notes how I didn’t respond to his message on Facebook. I feel badly, but I’m like that. Both about responding instantly and feeling badly. I begin to realize that of all people, Mr. J is a person whose messages demand immediate attention. I don’t want to let him down. Sure, there are a few people in my life whose messages on Facebook would be more important: my son, my parents. But I don’t get messages from them. My son because he never writes. (Guilt trip, yay! Except not really because he never reads ipanemic.com, either.) And my parents I’m not friends with on Facebook. Not complaining; it’s not broken so let’s not fix it. (I do love you tremendously, mom and dad, though.)

Mr. J and I talk briefly. We talk about meeting soon to discuss things. We’ve been talking about meeting for a while now. We’ve set something up for Monday. What Mr. J brings to the table is invaluable beyond simply, to quote precisely his message to me on Facebook, “a gonzo-like wealth of info” with regards to the homeless situation in South Beach and Miami.

Gonzo. There it is again.

Blood of the undead.We say our goodbyes and Mark and I walk east to see if the flash mob has dissipated. No, they’re running again. Blood on the ground. People laughing. Undead smiling. And then we’re done with the experience. It is then that we leave and head to the beach to discuss these topics.

To be continued.

——————————————————————-

Some photos of the undead are located here.

And here is a video:

Life on the beach

Posted on by
Reply

Scene in Lummus ParkTonight, I am on the beach again. I am staying at the hostel I love so much. I have just enjoyed happy hour with my friend Mark. We will be meeting Kevin of HiddenCity.net soon to watch a zombie flash mob materialize on Lincoln Road.

I have a lot of new stories to tell you. A lot of new photos to show you. Many good things to share. If only I could find the time. Hopefully later tonight, late in the evening, I can post about the things I want to tell you. Had a very Glengarry Glen Ross kind of night last night. I love nights like that.

It’s so natural for me to be on the beach. The world simply sits right. I was telling another friend of mine that I would be back on the beach soon and he said, “Finally, the world will sit properly on its axis again.”

I soooo love living here.