A Therapist Would Call Me "Guarded".

8.6.2016

Disclaimer: I’ve noticed some people from my past are annoyed that I’m asking anyone to read this blog by sharing it around. The only people I have specifically asked to read this are people I look up to and would benefit from getting their specific opinion and feedback. They are people I trust enough to be honest with me, call me out on my shit, and be critical when I need it. I don’t like this culture of confirmation bias and I don't need that in my life. I’m not drawing attention to myself. I’m not bragging. I’m just doing something I want to do, that does not affect you in any way.

So let me be clear: You don’t have to read anymore.
Stop!
If you don’t give a shit, and you don’t want to know/care what I have to say, stop reading now.

I’ve been asked multiple times to sort of justify why I’m writing at all.
First of all: What does it matter to you? No, seriously, why? Why does anything I do, that has no effect on your life, matter to you in the slightest? This whole concept is lost on me. I could go on for pages and pages about how it makes no sense to give a fuck about what other people are doing if it doesn’t affect you at all, but I won’t... today.

Why am I writing? I think I have some interesting things to say because I look at the world differently from you, just as you do from everyone else you know. We all have interesting things to say. I don’t think it’s arrogant to get my thoughts out and make them public.
If you, The Omnipresent Reader, doesn’t like the fact that I’m writing anything about myself or my life, just stop reading. This one’s a little personal. It’s all about me.

I don’t like opening up to people.

It’s been a huge problem in every relationship I’ve ever had.
It seems to be getting worse the older I get.
It’s debilitating and it holds me back from the greatest things in life. It makes me miserably lonely at times, and it’s just fucking stupid.

That’s a huge reason why I started this self-indulgent blog.
If I write about my life, it allows me to convey certain things I wouldn’t usually put out there.
This is, by all accounts, me letting people in.
Writing these is an exercise at getting my honest thoughts out... It’s an attempt at becoming more vulnerable. I’m offering myself through these words. I want to be able to grow as a person. I want to get better. For god sake, I want to be able to open up!

Even as I wrote that, in the back of my head, a not-so-subtle voice just poked me in the back of my eyeballs and said, “You fucking pussy!”

(Thanks Childhood.)

The truth is, there are a lot of reasons I don’t trust other people. Almost all of them are foolish and not worth holding on to, but I do anyways.

Friends:

Yesterday I woke up to an old friend posting a snarky comment on one of the billion social media platforms I have.
(I have multiple accounts with various names, hiding various things from various people... Guarded? Nahhhhh)
It was a post of an innocent joke that I made at my brother’s expense.
The comment was about something so completely ridiculous and nowhere near their business, and really out of character. (I think?) It insinuated that I was attempting to maliciously hurt him to draw attention to myself.
That fucked me up.
The entire day I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

First of all, anyone who knows my brother or me would know that this would never in a million years be offensive.

We have a great relationship. We are so fucking similar in all the best ways, and very different it all the non-important ones. This makes for great conversations. I look to him for advice, guidance, and most importantly, laughter. He’s fucking hilarious.

We will debate all the time, but it’s (almost) always intelligently done and respectful. If he presents a better idea that makes more logical sense, I will change my mind. He does the same. Or, if we do disagree, we don’t get butthurt about it.

That’s how people are supposed to communicate, btw. If someone presents facts and can back it up, adjust your views accordingly. Debating facts with beliefs is just fucking silly. Stop being such a team player to the losing team of non-sense. If someone proves you wrong, don’t cling to your incorrect original idea just because your ego can’t stand being wrong. That’s childish.

But I digress,

My brother is a goofball.
I am a goofball.
We joke around, a lot. We make fun of each other all the fucking time. It’s healthy. We don’t protect our egos like they are something to be valued. (Spoiler: no one’s ego is)
So when a friend sort of insinuated that I was doing a shitty thing for sharing a dumb joke, I got upset. I started second-guessing my self. For a brief moment I thought, “Am I a huge asshole for this?”... But then I realized it was obviously a fucking joke and should be treated as such.

This person knows me well. They know my brother well. We all grew up together. So what the fuck was the problem? When did making salty/snarky comments become an acceptable thing to do? What benefit does it have? And why was it this person doing it? It didn’t make sense to me. It kinda hurt.

So why am I still rambling about a comment on social media the next day? Because the way it fucked with me, helps lead into the reasons why I’m so shit at opening up to people.

It’s a perfect example that shows the roots of some of my issues.

I don’t truly trust many people.
Maybe five.
And even them, I still guard a lot.
I have a lot of friends that I genuinely love and will talk endlessly to about all sorts of things, but I always reserve a lot of important shit.

I protect certain things about myself and it doesn’t help me at all. It’s actually debilitating. Letting friends in and letting them help is a great benefit of the human experience that I don’t often take advantage of.

I don’t want to be viewed as vulnerable. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to appear weak in any way. I don’t want to let people in, because when you let someone in, you give them the ability to rip your fucking heart out.
And sometimes, they do.

Any time I have ever been hurt by someone that I trusted, I put walls up. I shut down the flow of any personal information immediately. They will, for the rest of our lives, not have the chance to hurt me again. Even if I forgive them, and move past it, I am hugely reserved in sharing certain information. This isn’t something I like about myself. I have rarely been able to successfully forgive someone completely.

This is a problem. It’s a self defense mechanism, so it’s understandable and I can tell where it comes from, but it’s a real problem.

There are only a handful of instances where I have been betrayed by someone close, and then was able to move past it. It has never once been me attempting to move past it. I don’t seek to forgive. Their actions can change my mind, however.

Once, when I was in seventh grade I had two friends steal money out of my P.E. locker. I knew it was these two people immediately. It was my first thought. Followed shortly by series of thoughts that would set the groundwork for developing my future insecurities. Those thoughts were: Why the fuck would they steal from me? Do friends really do this to each other? Are they actually my friends?

I asked them immediately and nervously and they said it wasn’t them. They even tried over compensating by pretending to help me find out who did it. It was at school, so we even went to the principal together. They were, and still are, horrible liars.

This is a clear moment in my memory. I can remember details so vividly about this negative interaction that it sort of scares me. I can re-live this by closing my eyes and picturing my self as a child going through this with intense clarity. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn. As I’m writing this, I can feel that horrible feeling. It’s loneliness. It’s anger. It’s sadness. It’s betrayal.

This was the defining incident that taught me two very cold, but necessary life lessons:

1. People will hurt you, so be careful who you give that ability.
2. People you trust can take advantage of you, so be careful who you trust.

Anyways, the school never found out who did it. I knew they did it, but I was too much of a coward to press the issue any further. My pain told me that just pretending it’s cool was better. So, my friends got away with it. I just quietly "let it go"

(I didn't let it go.)

Many years later in college, I told them one drunken night that I knew it was them. I can’t remember how it came up, but I remember thinking it would be funny and light-hearted. They looked at each other nervously. Like they were caught, or maybe even for a split-second looked at each other and internally debating on whether or not to keep lying? I could have just been paranoid.
My stomach started fluttering. My little “ha-ha” moment got serious on accident. They both came clean and apologized. For some reason, with my voice trembling from an unnecessary adrenaline rush from being incredibly nervous, I just spilled out, “Yeah that’s where a lot of my trust issues started haha!”

It was wildly uncomfortable, to say the least.

One of those friends I trust today. We have great conversations. I gain a lot from having him in my life. I learn a lot. I am thankful he is around. I have a lot of love and respect for him.

But it wasn’t me who sought out to forgive him. It was his actions, his character, and his honesty. I value that in people.
A lot.

The other friend, however, I don’t allow myself to trust very much. This isn’t necessarily an isolated occurrence to this person specifically, either. I do the same with 99.9% of all people in my life. He's not a bad person by any means, but I have walked in on him talking shit behind my back multiple times through out my life. That shit sucks. I’m sure I even did the same when we were younger to some how get back at him. Mature. There are, strangely, a lot of friends from high school that I’ve caught doing that as adults –not that long ago.

I’m not sure if it’s just that we all grew up together so there is a lot of weird history that you would expect from knowing someone for so long, or if it’s weird childish gossip-y tendencies that are somehow still acceptable amongst this group. To be honest, they may have grown out of it by now. I haven’t been around much the last few years. I know I was still doing shitty things three years ago that I would never dream of doing today. People change. People grow. That’s how life works.

Whatever the case, these things didn’t help much for my growing insecurities and trust issues at the time. I don’t hate any of them for doing any of these things. I don’t even really mind, much. In fact, I’m still (relatively) close to these people. I would consider them good, life-long friends. I just don’t really trust them. I’ve been burned too many times. Again, maybe it’s the product of knowing people for so long. Who knows?

I just know that I prefer the whole, “If you have a problem with me, have a conversation with me and let’s figure it out” type of situations. They seem to preserve trust better, and be a more honest/healthy way to go about these tricky situations.

Any one of the five people I trust would call me on my shit. That’s a HUGE reason why I trust them. If they have a problem with my actions (or me), they will let me know. That shows that they care about me. I need people around who are able to help me grow. If I’m doing something wrong, I trust that these people will be there for me and tell me what I’m doing is wrong.

So, I need to open up more to friends. I have a lot of amazing friends that I love to death. It’s strange when thinking how little some of them know about me. It’s not their fault, by any means. It’s mine. I will rant and talk about anything, but I never give much information that’s crucial to me.

I’m working on it.

Women:

Fuck.
Isn’t this too long already? I think blogs are supposed to be shorter than this.
I don’t really read many blogs. I’m trying to now, and most of them seem to be shorter.

Maybe I should just skip this section?
Yeah, that’s not cowardly.
This part is the real reason I wanted to write this post. But it’s fucking difficult! Every thing in my body screams, “Don’t share this! What do you stand to gain from sharing any of this?” And that voice in my head is still calling me a Pussy.

I want to be open to Love.

I have claimed to be “broken” many times, through various parts of my life.
I have shut down the possibility of letting a potential partner in, and at times, I don’t know how to reverse it.

I have been called:
Distant, emotionally unavailable, cold, bitter, angry, depressing, wild, untrustworthy, distracted, negative, uncaring, etc.

All of which have been true at one point or another.

This is a close second to what I despise most about myself.

I fancy myself a caring guy. I’m relatively happy. I try to become better every day. I make conscious efforts to be a good friend and be kind to anyone I come in contact with. I smile at people. I talk to strangers.

I’m obviously a really good/amazing/perfect guy... Maybe one of the best that has ever existed.

#overcompensation

Fuckin' Christ, can I avoid relationships like the plague.

The few times I have been in love, I have been called (usually in order): Romantic, caring, kind, loving, obsessive, complicated, jealous, angry, vindictive, competitive, cruel, etc.

This is the thing I despise most about myself.

I have given my heart away a few times.
Each time I fall ridiculously in love. I become obsessed. There is an intense physical feeling of joy. Dopamine, Serotonin, and all that other good shit starts pumping through my brain causing these amazing happy feelings. Every time I see, smell, or hear them, I get a fix. I become addicted. I become dependent on that feeling. It’s the greatest goddamn feeling in the world. Better than any drug I’ve ever done. Better than any amount of money. It’s even better than any other form of love I have ever experienced thus far.

“You fucking pussy!”

However, each time I have been hurt by someone in some small way (where I could have easily had a conversation about it and attempted to resolve it), I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I do the same thing that I did when my two friends stole money from me in middle school. I just pretend it will blow over. I pretend it’s easier to not start an argument.

In my experience, if I let someone know that I’ve been hurt, they try and deny it and it starts an argument. There is a break down in communication and feelings come out and it just gets ugly.

So, instead of doing the correct/healthy thing, I put the walls up. Slowly and incrementally, I build the walls around me and leave my partner out in the cold. The problem with that is that I always seem to leave my heart outside those walls in the protection of the one I love.
Rookie mistake.
What happens in a codependent relationship when one person shuts the other out, while the other one starts to get revenge by stabbing at that heart with comments and poking at their insecurities?
It turns into a fucking emotional blood bath.

I know what you’re thinking, “You’re not doing love right, Matt.”

I shouldn’t put the walls up, right? I should be more trusting, right? I shouldn't treat it like a competition, right?

Yeah. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, asshole.

Obviously all the relationships I’ve been in have ended. I haven’t been in many, and none have ended well.

I become devastated.
That supply of all those happy chemicals in my brain is depleted and intense grief fills my entire being.
I go through withdrawals.
I shut down.
I can’t function.
I can’t leave bed.
I act like a whiny little bitch.
I become incredibly vulnerable and it’s the worst feeling I’ve ever felt.

I swear, I fucking hate admitting that.

Every serious relationship I’ve been in has ended the same way. The break up is brutal and I become reduced to this ghostly, non-productive, unrecognizable, whiny little bitch version of myself that I wish didn’t exist. No matter how hard I close my eyes and pretend that part of me doesn’t exist, it does. I can’t avoid that. That fucking terrifies me.

It cripples me.

It doesn’t allow me to let people in and it shuts out the possibility of experiencing the greatest thing in life; Love.

Worst of all, it’s hurt people I genuinely care about.

There has been a few times in the not so distant past where I thought I would be able to get over this and work through it, but ended up not being able to. It’s not fair. It's incredibly uncool. It weighs on my conscience heavily.
I’m terribly sorry.

I feel horrible.
You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.
I’m just.. I’m just so fucking sorry.

I’m working on it.

Whoa,
I know that got a little depressing there for a few seconds (the whole time). I don’t want to bum anyone out that does in fact read this post, but this blog is me trying to work on this stuff.

I am working on these problems. I understand what’s happening now and therefore I can prevent myself from building any more walls.

(WALLS ARE NEVER A GOOD THING YOU ORANGE FUCK!)

Being honest is incredibly beneficial to me –Both by being unapologetically honest to others, and having them be the same to me.
Honesty prevents the walls.

And for the walls already in place?
Writing about all of this is my attempt at dealing with these ridiculous issues and taking those walls down brick by brick.

This is me letting people in.
This is me, being vulnerable.
This is me, recording my life.
And you knowing this about me is not information I would normally offer up. Until right now.

SO!
There’s hope! Everywhere I look there is hope! There is so much fucking Love in this world. Some times it’s overwhelming to think about. I, like you, have a lot to offer to other people. Let’s have a conversation. Let’s get to know each other. Let’s add more Love, because it’s the greatest fucking thing on the planet.

-Matthew Loves

P .S.
If I wrote about you and you are upset with me, please don’t be, but if you are, just know that these aren’t things I’m saying in a vindictive, malicious or cruel way.

These are things that I’ve mulled over many times and attempted to deliver in the most honest way that I can think of. If you want to talk about it, give me a call, shoot me an e-mail, send a raven, do whatever... just get a hold of me. I’m available.

(Though I’m notoriously horrible at texting.)

Your Beliefs Are Not Above Criticism

8.4.2016

I’m going to try my best here to not piss off anyone.

The other day I found myself having a rare night of nothing to do. I had a shoot planned, but since it’s LA and people here are flaky as shit, it was cancelled last minute. I was a little upset so I figured I’d go for a walk to clear my head.
I ended up at a trendy bar about a mile away from my apartment. I was in a grumpy mood (surprise!), but I wanted to go talk to people and shake off whatever funk I was in.

After about 30 minutes of me drinking water at the bar (party), a small group of very good-looking hipsters walked in. The place was fairly empty and they struck up conversation. There was this adorable little teeny tiny short girl (is that condescending?) who kept trying to talk to me one-on-one at awkward times. The group would be talking about one topic and then she would turn to me and ask me a completely unrelated question at very strange moments. Like, that moment right after I would say something to one person and right before they started to respond. She informed me she had some social issues, which I usually think is bullshit, but this seemed to explain a lot of things.

The questions weren’t bad or anything, in fact quite good... just poorly timed. After hearing a few of my responses to questions about psychedelics and things about meditation, her eyes started to light up. She seemed to be into whatever I was saying, hanging on to every word. I have to admit, I like when other people like hearing me talk. I’m kind of an asshole like that.

(See: This blog)

She asked me for my phone number, which was peculiarly timed as well. Plus, I don’t like giving my number out to strangers. I’m also the worst person in the world at saying “No.” So, I let her enter her number and call herself from my phone. Whatever.

Almost immediately after, she asked me about energy sources or crystals or whatever the current LA hippie bullshit is currently trending. I checked out. Immediately. I kept thinking, “Ah, fuck, what have I gotten myself into?” I tried to pretend to be interested, but it was like the air left the room. I just don’t give a shit. She could sense it. Everyone could sense it.

Sensing my lack of interest must have made her feel like she had to convince me it was all real... right then and there. In My adult life, no one’s ever done that before. Usually after I say out loud, “I don’t believe in that kind of stuff”, they just let it go. She informed me that it’s real, she’s a shaman, and there was a simple form of energy ball that she could show me right there to prove that it is in fact real.

Fuck.

I entertained her and let her show me -Mostly because I didn’t know what to do. It seemed too awkward to say no.

She had me hold my hands in front of my chest, palms facing each other, and slowly start pulling them apart and back together. Imagine me pushing together an invisible Nerf ball and then gently letting it return to it’s natural shape. After about thirty seconds she said, “Do you feel the heat on your finger tips?”

I fucking panicked.

No, of course I don’t feel the imaginary heat.
If this were in any way remotely real, one could measure the heat source easily with the simplest of tests.
I just started thinking about how I could prove this to be bullshit.
You could put a common thermometer on my fingertips before I started playing with fake Nerf ball, and then right after and measure that goddamn difference.

“I don’t think so?” I said. I’m a coward.

She seemed let down. Like her ancient shamanic powers had failed her. We tried again with the same results. I finally said, “Listen, I don’t believe in any of this stuff so maybe it just doesn’t work on me.” She explained that it should and that if I try more it will work.

In the name of science, I wasn’t going to let this go on any longer. I let her know that I truly don’t believe in this stuff and I was going to pass on trying it again. She asked what I believe in and I responded honestly:
“Mostly things that can be scientifically proven.”

(Awkward pause)

“I mean, there are probably loads of things science hasn’t discovered that we are unable to understand or sense, but until we can justly understand it, I just choose to stick with the known.”
This upset her.

She had this look of disappointment on her face that was as if I just pulled my pants down and shit on her shamanic cloak.

(BTW, She wasn’t wearing a cloak, but if she didn’t have one at home then SHE’S NOT A FUCKING SHAMAN!)

She started arguing with me about her beliefs and going on about how science can’t explain everything, and that her things are real. It was eerily reminiscent of when my very berry religious extended family was failing to understand how I could just not believe in the Christian god. I remember being looked at as if I was a fucking idiot for choosing to not believe. It was beyond their comprehension.

She promised the world would be better if everyone realized their true power. I agreed.

When I wasn’t convinced of her beliefs, she became upset. After she specifically asked what I believed in and I answered, she became upset. When pressured to explain why, and I responded with a healthy dose of skepticism and criticism, she became upset. (Do you see a pattern here?) I wasn’t poking fun of her; I was showing the holes I had poked within my head. I do this often. And not just with these trendy LA hipster shamans, with every major religion as well.

People get really really upset when other people don’t believe what they believe.

We all have different ways of deciding what the truth is. Some of us look for truth in reality and tangible facts; others search for it in love and energy. Most people (in America) look for the truth in old books written by flawed people.

My point is: It doesn’t matter.

Whatever turns you on, that’s OK.
But don’t force those beliefs on anyone else. Don’t get offended when someone pokes holes in your belief system, especially if they are doing it without malicious intentions. Don’t become angry when they don’t believe in your “miracles”. And if you ask someone a question and they answer honestly, don’t get offended. You walked into that.

One last thing:

A person believing in other things doesn’t have to fuck your day up so much. Just chill. Have a sense of humor. Realize life is short, and it’s not a big deal that we don't all share the same paranoia of death. And if someone criticizes your faith, try and keep in mind that they are just another person with whom you have way more in common with than you may think.

Be kind.

Love,

Matthew Burns (in Hell)

Being Pretentions Hasn't Paid My Bills

8.3.2016

I don’t know what I’m doing these days. Things seem off.
All I can think about is if I’m fulfilled or not.

If being fulfilled is paying the bills by doing what you love, what do I love? Well, in short, I love photography. But, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

People in Los Angeles love to talk about their profession. Sometimes that’s all you end up talking about with new people. It’s dull. Maybe I moved here at a time in my life where that’s what is on everyone’s mind, or maybe it is really this region specifically. Regardless, it’s frustrating.

Let’s say I meet someone new, the whole situation (99.9% of the time) will unfold like this:

New person will introduce himself or herself, or vice versa.
The normal greetings and responses will happen, and then, BOOM!
“So, what do you do?”
When I answer, without fail, the follow up is always, “What kind of photography?”.

Ah, Christ!
I get fucking anxious.

Here we go again.
I always reply, “Everything.” -which is never enough. The conversation always stays on topic. “Well, like what? What do you like to shoot?”

Fast-forward to about two minutes in and I’m dancing around the fact that I’m a pretentious cunt, but I rarely get to be one for a living.
I’m hearing myself rehash the exact same conversation I have had many times over. I’m ready to blow my fucking head off.

I get bored. How are they not? How is this not the most boring conversation anyone has ever had in the history of language? Aren’t they as bored as I am? Why don’t we talk about something new? Something else.. anything else. AM I THE ONLY PERSON SICK OF HAVING THIS SAME FUCKING CONVERSATION?

I get it, though. Most people like what they do. It’s an easy conversation. I suppose it’s interesting to learn things about new people, and profession is a safe bet. It's a socially acceptable topic that guides the conversation in a familiar arena. But if I’m bored of hearing myself, aren’t they bored of explaining to me what they do? Because of course I have to ask... other wise I’m the asshole.

The truth: Most of the photos I shoot aren’t gratifying, fulfilling, thought provoking or beneficial to anyone or anything. Well, they definitely help a client promote themselves or their products... but I’m most likely contributing to the over saturation of imagery and content that exists in our world. Content that is essentially meaningless.

Am I a Kardashian?

I understand I have no grounds to complain, but I will, for my name is Matthew Complains, of the house Unsatisfied, first of his name.

I love making things that matter. I love creating things that have a purpose, or speak upon real issues. I love conveying my ideas and what I would like the world to be through the lens of my camera. It is my most powerful voice, and my trade. But, most of the photos I take (maybe 99%) are filler content. They are made for the purpose of gaining a buck, and they serve their purpose... but they aren’t real. In fact, marketing in 2016 is essentially palatable imagery (video, stills, graphics, text, whatever) that people can relate to. It’s moved entirely to content creation with the goal of trying to get consumers to think they need whatever the product may be. It is massively successful and shows no signs of slowing down.

(Insert your Ad Here)

They may look pretty (objectively), they may look original (highly unlikely), they may even be saying something ("buy this thing"), but they are never beneficial to the overall human condition.
The kicker: I’m good at that! My creativity allows me to take the concepts and ideas a company or an individual may have and turn that into imagery that successfully conveys their message. Which, again, is always somewhere along the lines of: “Buy this thing.”

I get it... I feel your collective "Ugh's". When it comes to creating things: I’m idealistic, pretentious, and slowly approaching bitter.

So what do I want to say? Will people give a shit? Are my ideas as meaningful as I so arrogantly think they are? Do I actually offer anything of substance?

I think so.
So why don’t I do that?

I could list a billion reasons for why I shouldn’t, but it can be summed up very easily: Fear.

If I put my heart and soul into creating something, there’s a real world chance that upon looking at it, people will think “This. Is. Shit.”

Am I ready for that?

P.S. I don’t mean I want to quit doing what I do for an income.
Despite the bitching above, I am thrilled I get to use my camera for a living.
I’m good at it.
I just haven’t made things that are meaningful to me personally in a very long time.
It weighs on my soul.

But please,

Keep hiring me.

-Matthew Complains

Get It Together, Bitch.

8.1.2016

I’m sitting in my studio apartment in a trendy neighborhood in Los Angeles.
It’s a mess.
I make my bed every morning, but I make excuses for the rest of it. I lie to myself, “This spot is temporary, so it doesn’t make sense to buy furniture or storage for all this shit.”

It’s been over a year.
It doesn’t feel temporary.

Sometimes I put things off.
OK, a lot of times.
I’m not sure why I am able to focus, get after it and work hard at most things and not others. I recognize my problems and I can name my flaws, yet sometimes I just observe them. Instead of stomping them out, making changes, or being proactive, I just watch them stay stagnant.

But in most ways I’m trying. I think?

After years of living like an alcoholic writer who eats dog shit all day slowly turning into a fat-fuck, I decided to get back into shape.
Cut out booze (except for celebrations), started eating how humans are supposed to eat (not an American in 2016 with all this filler bullshit), and I started working out. Hard.

Within 4 months I lost 30lbs, regained strength and have achieved a fitness level that is eerily similar to my 19-year old college athlete days. Sure, I’m a little busted up from various injuries and countless stupid fights through out my teenage years.

-Arthritis in my right hand.
-Knees both shot to hell.
-Shoulder a little stiff.

And, I have had to alter a lot of things to strengthen and better myself despite these ailments. I know that there may be physical limitations, but I am constantly trying to better myself in order to push those limitations so that I can mitigate the effect they have on my life.

It feels good.

I quit smoking cigarettes after nearly a decade.
Why’d I start?
Because everyone was doing it and I thought it was cool. Whether it’s subconscious or not, that’s why everyone starts. Any other reason one may give is horse shit, I promise you. I can’t think of one honest or good reason why anyone would start smoking other than looking cool.

Why’d I quit?
Because it finally hit home.
I will 100% die from these fucking cool-guy-sticks if I don’t stop.
And not a clean death either! It’s a disgusting death full of brutal pain and rotting cells within the lungs and as the cancer outwardly moves and consumes enough of the soul, the body, mind, and heart all finally stop. It stopped feeling cool, so I quit.

It feels good.

I meditate a lot. One thing I do that seems to make people uncomfortable, is try and figure out how my body will age. I attempt to approach it realistically and pragmatically, and figure out how my physical body will decay as time goes on. It freaks me out, but it puts things in to perspective. I change behaviors because of it. I would rather live healthier and longer, so I make adjustments accordingly. For example:

If I live to be 80, my hand will have limited mobility. The arthritis will worsen and it will hurt (badly, from what I hear.) My knees will most likely be problematic unless I can figure out real solutions for the bothersome tendons. I hope, I won’t get cancer form all the stupid shit that I have done, but realistically it’s a possibility. Because of this, I try and alter all of my current habits to pro long the inevitable. There are steps I won’t get into, that radically reduce the possibility of cancer.

I want to live, not just long, but well.

It feels good.

So, why can’t I keep my fucking room clean?
I know that having a clean environment will reduce stress; it will help me be more disciplined and allow me to focus on more important things in life. There’s literally no down side.
For a guy who seems to be obsessed with bettering himself, I sure am a hypocrite.
So why are there clothes all over my floor? I don’t even own that many clothes. Black Levis, black shirts, black socks, black, black, black...
I need more color. Whatever.
Something so trivial and easy such as cleaning up my pseudo-goth attire should be a breeze. But nevertheless, every time I walk into my apartment, shit everywhere.

It doesn’t feel good.

There are a lot more “serious” things in my life that don’t feel good.

Maybe I’ll get into those some time in another blog, but for now just take the moody clothes on my floor as a metaphor.

I have work to do.

My Job is Too Easy :(

Cameras are fucking awesome.

The Camera is an amazing machine that has evolved and changed the world many times over. Since the Camera Obscura, people have been FASCINATED with the idea of recording life. The desire to make better and better cameras has existed since the first camera was invented. Innovation is humanity’s greatest gift. Personally, I have always loved old cameras. We had an old Brownie in our house growing up, my father had an old 35mm he bought in High School, and any time I saw a camera I didn’t know what it was I would research the fuck out of it. I liked the idea of knowing how to use cameras that not everyone was able to. It was a learned trade, which is something that I value and respect in society.

Any craftsman, who genuinely loves their chosen practice, will have beautiful ways to describe their trade. Also, they will know what the fuck they are doing. Learning film photography is important -It may be irrelevant, but it’s important. To learn all of the basics of camera operations, learn how to develop your own film, and learn how to make prints are all incredibly important if you want to call yourself a photographer. When I learned such things, it was enthralling. I remember being in the first dark room being hyper aware of the fact that I was discovering my passion as I learn. That’s a weird thing to be aware of. I fell in love.

The history of photography and cameras is like this enchanting world where science some how turns into art and then back to science. The ability to Record Life as precisely as possible, can be twisted, composed, conceptualized in all different ways which turns life into Art. I had an amazing professor in college, Alex Emmons, who works with “alternative processes”. (BTW, I hate that fucking word, “Alternative”. It just means older generations of processing techniques. i.e. Cyanotypes, daguerreotypes, etc.) She was incredibly influential in making me understand that this passion of mine, is a learned craft. You had to know what you were doing and how a camera actually fucking works before you could make anything in her classes. Seems like a bit of a no brainer, right? You’d be surprised. Alex Emmons is a brilliant teacher and a true craftsman.

Why am I being all nostalgic and pretentious?

It’s too fucking easy to take pictures these days.

Yep. The advancement in camera technology is amazing. It seems like science fiction. No one ever talks about how fucking awesome it is we have the ability to actually record life. It gets better and better, which is fantastic, but it also gets easier and easier... too easy, even. I’m not sure how I feel about this yet.

I have, many times, said that it’s too easy to be a photographer in 2016.

Let me give a dumb example:

1. Joesephine Somebody goes on instagram, sees some awesome photos with hashtags about all the gear used to make said photos. (#CanonRebelT74i or whatever number they’re on now)

2. Quick Google search of said camera, thinks, “Whoa! $300 is totally doable!”, and orders it via amazon prime.

3. The camera kit gets there the next day (or maybe even same day? Fuck man, Amazon is taking over. They got their shit together. Whatever.).

4. She switches that mother-fucker to fully auto mode and snaps her first picture.

5. She uploads to instagram with same hashtags (maybe even #JoesphineSomebodyPhotography because why not?), hundreds of people see, like it, follow her, and get excited by her “work”. She’s ecstatic. Good for her! It feels awesome to have people like your shit.

6. Someone asks her to shoot them for money.

7. She says yes.

8. She’s now a photographer.

Awesome, good for her. I know tons of people just like her. I think I read one of those shitty Kardashian types is now a photographer? Whatever, my point is, it’s too fucking easy.

Also, what’s actually “in” right now is very amateur stylized photography. Thanks, Terry Richardson, American Apparel, and everyone else who rips them off... myself included. You could argue that even going back to Nan Goldin and others’ early work who made candid photos with that Point and Shoot look Art, but whatever I’m getting away form my point.

So, the cameras are far more advanced than ever, the ability to take a high quality photo without even knowing how the camera works, and the fact that it’s trendy to take simple shitty photos is the magical combination of ingredients that make being a photographer the easiest goddamn thing in the world.

But should we be giving people money for this? I don’t know. I get confused myself.
Now, let’s take it a step further and say that Joesephine Somebody is actually a model with a large following on instagram. She is an “influencer” who is around cameras all the time, becomes interested in having a “new thing”, buys a camera, and BAM! Suddenly a photographer. She now talks about her “work” and all that douchey bullshit. What happens next is interesting to me, because her “work” is instantly a real commodity. She has an audience for her “work”. If a person or company were to pay her to photograph something, she might feature it on her social media platforms and expose it to her large audience. This is a valuable thing to people. It’s a little gross, but no one seems to care. It’s exposure. It’s marketing. But is it good?

Some would argue that if it’s a “good photo” then it must be good. But is it a good photo? Is it really? If it’s just a happy accident based on the simplicity and ease of taking a picture in 2016, is it really good?

Let me go off on another tangent, because this isn’t already too long:

Picasso knew how to paint. Like, really knew how to paint. To the layman, his most famous works might look simple (I know, they’re not really. But for the sake of argument, ok... just go with it) but I promise you, Google his early work and you will see that, Homeboy obviously knew what the fuck he was doing. (#Understatement of the year?) It drives me crazy when I hear, “I could do that!” in reference to major paintings. That’s probably not true, but whatever. With photography, though, it is true!

You can probably do whatever American Apparel ad is currently running within the first week of owning a camera, while not knowing a single thing about cameras or photography. It’s that easy!

But, should you?

There’s a story I heard about Picasso sketching in the park when some cunty* woman recognized him and then proceeded to ask him to sketch her. He did in less than a minute or some shit. She was amazed by how perfect he had captured her. She asked him how much it would it cost to take home, and he responded, “$5,000”. She was taken aback and said “But, Picasso! It only took you less than a minute or some shit!” Picasso responded, “It took me my entire life.”

BOOM.
(I’m paraphrasing, folks. I don’t even know if it’s a true story.)

This hits home with me. I see all sorts of people taking photos. Friends, strangers, people from my past, famous people... literally fucking everyone these days is a photographer. Yet, very few of these people take the time to get to know how their Magical Picture Boxes work. Most of them aren’t even making good photos, just trendy ones with mass appeal. This wouldn’t bother me at all, except I see that they’re charging for this craft that they don’t actually know how to perform. They’re missing the skill set that should determine whether or not they are able to be called a photographer. Yet, because of the technological advancements, the end product is still a quality photo. This freaks me out.

On one hand: Whatever, if the client is happy, the “photographer” is happy, I shouldn’t care. But, on the other hand: This is all a sham and no one knows what he or she is doing and it’s perverting the craft I love. If I were in that situation, I would NEVER charge anyone. I would adamantly tell people, “I am a beginner, let me figure this Scientific Magic Box out before I can morally charge you. Let me develop my craft before I boldly claim to be photographer.”

Whatever. The world would be better with less shitty content, and more craftsmanship.

Who knows though, maybe I’m just self-righteous.

Nah, I’m definitely self-righteous.

*Cunty. Yes, going up to arguably one of the best painters ever and asking them to draw you is in fact a "cunty" thing to do regardless of your gender.

*ALEX EMMONS WEBSITE