Intimate, Intimidating

Sweet  Dreams, as rendered by Marilyn Manson, followed by Tank, from The Stranglers, yeah, that fits this day. It’s a good start, motherfuckers. Yup, I mean you.
You know what I love? The fact that I can name a Photoshop layer “Balls and cock oh yeah baby”. I know it sounds crude, and I can’t quite say why it gives me so much satisfaction to do so, but it does. This bears examination (uh, no, not the bears which shit, proverbially, in the woods).
brown-bear-350311_1280
Perhaps it is because, back in the day, as an apprentice of the reproduction arts, I could not have afforded myself this grace. That was a world of layers of nameless plastic film and paper. No one who has grown up in the digital world can understand what the fuck we had to deal with, back then. Tons of slick material, analog stuff, you know, like, real. Film, with layers of fucking emulsion on it, for Christ’s sake. Egg-white. Slipping and sliding through our fingers like a pile of damned eels. Big vats full of poisonous chemicals. The scanner you have now did not exist, instead we used a monstrous photographic machine, bigger than a man, with huge blinding lights and utilitarian reflective surfaces and what-not. Thank God we don’t need them anymore: they were intimidating.
Ahhh, bullshit, I loved those machines. You felt them. You caressed them. Have you caressed your scanner lately? Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if you had, because people love their machines intimately, no matter if they are big sons-of-bitches or little cute sleek thingies with friendly surfaces and happy colors. Machines are alway extensions of our selves. They are tools, nothing more, nothing less. And we love our tools (especially men, grumble, why do women not love their tools? Or do they after all?)

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