Doer Aerosol

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If only I knew or understood. The figure was real they were wandering in the darkness sleeping by day. The neighbour was not to be trusted they had to do what they had to do. It was a matter of survival. The figure had to live somewhere, they were verbally transported to the underworld and they were to build. A bikie gang making amphetamines somewhere ready to poison children in order to survive. A job at a supermarket was too much to bare they needed real money real weapons enough to be entrepreneurs. What about the real person surely they could survive on a wage? Never, not in this day and age a wage wouldn't pay your rent you have to sell yourself sell your altruism sell your love to the thrill taker. Even when a wage was survivable why did they peddle their wares then? Because you can never have enough and there is always a good excuse ready to make a packet of money, "I just had to do it". My neighbour wanted a high they wanted to pay less for goods with no warranty

Untitled , a photo by doer1 on Flickr. Image

I rarely have ideas, I have to work for them they don't just come and consume me, ready made nonsense ready to be followed. They come as a hint ready to be read or analysed. Who is this character but a cliche, anonymous, terra nullius, vacant but ready. Ready for what? Ready to exist or stand in ambiguity. Are we all not ambiguous? Embarrassing, hidden by postures. Ready to be misunderstood, read. The assailant waits somewhere waits for something a chance. The chance occurs and the cliche makes headway into a report that is filed away. The vacant figure leaves a paper trail, that is for certain. An animal that is left to roam in a sea of delirium. The movie was real, the report was real, the charge sheet was real, the person waiting in the shadows was not, they ceased to exist. They wrote the marks that somehow where no longer real that were accounted for in damages to the state, a tally of numbers somewhere in a file that had become essential. The act was abstract, a defined set,

The character walks by night, we never see his face. It makes you wonder if he is real. The face gives everything away. It holds you and you use it to focus, to find a point to locate a relationship. This face is never there so there is no dialogue other than you watching. He is focused looking away, even when the camera is noticed he hides. What is he hiding from? Rejection? Knowledge? His victim? His oppressor? Maybe he hides away in shadows in the night to conjure up a dark power like a witch doctor. Maybe he hides to evoke curiosity or fear. If you see him is it best not to know? If you knew would the light illuminate him as the mask falls away and a naked face comes to view? What of the mystery? What of not knowing, of seeing the dark shadows envelop the stalking dark figure playing with shadows. Cutting with fear with the power of remaining unknown, a figment of your imagination something that can't be touched but felt with blade where only pain is the message the loss of blo