To the girl with the dirty eyes:
My dad met the devil at Berkley.
He preached on a field, the devil not my dad, and the sun soaked his skin and seared through the faces of the followed. My dad did not follow, only watched through a Nikon. The clicks interrupted, the shutter slid shut, kodachrome was beautiful and the world snapped still.
Of course the devil had to stop.
“What are you doing?” he asked my dad, and California turned runny at his feet.
“You’re interesting,” my dad replied, “you’re catching light.”
“You lie,” answered the devil, and he tapped the Nikon and the grass brushed blue. “I’m the devil, remember? You can’t photograph me.”
“You’ve got it mixed up,” smiled my dad, an affable guy with deities. They didn’t phase him, only flesh and blood could, and sometimes coffee, black. “Vampires don’t show up on film,” he continued, a lesson. “You’re not a vampire, man. The film will be fine.”
Only it wasn’t. There’s a whole roll of Fuji with a field and some shadows. That’s it and my dad swears he was sober. He also said that meeting the devil runs in the family. There’s another story about another father, in Minsk, in another field, with the same devil, and so I guess I’m waiting.
I thought maybe it could be you, that I’d have to face, that I’d have to soak from the sun and push past and laugh at and go.
But recently I realized. The devil has way better skin than you.
Keep it up though. You’ve definitely got some people fooled.
xoxo IS
[ANNA WOHLIN - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]
:) “
