A new #americanmaster is #studentdom99

20 yo giant master with size size 13 feet

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YES YOU FUCKIN' WILL, JEEBUS!

I sifted through my boxes of old photographs from my chemical developing days and long evenings listening to my headphones over sinks and timers. Most of those photos are not good at all. AT ALL. Then, my idea of a good photo meant angling through bike spokes and catching shadows from stair railings.

Or maybe I was onto something.

Next to that box were my old Polaroids. Stuffed in their film boxes so tight that the boxes give a little. Pictures of friends' silly faces. One is of that night I put on my rainbow brite costume as a cleaned out my closet and drank a whole bottle of Charles Shaw on my own. If only my body would let me do that, still.

My Canon was purchased the summer of 2005. I went most of its life without a case. It's not holding on too well. My Minolta Maxxum 5 --gift of high school graduation when I had glorious dreams of becoming a photographer-- was stolen in the Great Car Theft Summer 2010 which claimed not only the camera but at least six VHS tapes harboring precious childhood memories my brothers and I shared, my crappy HP 3in1 printer, and a few spindles of burned CDs. GO YOU.

I have a feeling the thief was homeless.

They also stole a few empty duffle bags. Thanks. I'm an idiot for giving up at the end of moving all day. Those few items would have only taken fifteen extra minutes to haul in. So the old Minolta was passed down into the hands of a pawn shop owner who probably smokes cigars and will sell it for only $65. I can only imagine it in the case, taken from its domicile next to film cans and an extended lens, forgetting all those long walks and staircases we enjoyed together.

Cameras have no feelings, only memories not their own. 

I remember when we used to talk about masturbation in those early years of high school: my circle of boys who were friends

they'd say, "Hell yeah! I'd suck my own dick if I could." I accepted that at face value and never asked why that's perfectly normal and why they winced and guffawed at the slight mention of sucking anyone else's dick unless, of course, it was to jeer--their terms of endearment. "man, suck my dick, mother fucker" "man, you're gay, whatever, dude." "dude, stop being a fag and come over, already."

I knew they didn't mean this literally. It was just something they said to each other, as if to say, "I miss you when you aren't around, I like it when you stay the night and we play video games into the late hours of the day, and we can sleep in the same bed, because that's all we have"