Sunday, April 17, 2011

The Persistance of Memory

After sixty-five solar revolutions I harbor few major, heart wrenching regrets. Certainly committed more then a few minor mistakes & let pass a bevy of missed opportunities -- Shoulda bought 500 shares of Apple back in '98, never should have sold that upper west side 2 bedroom apartment in '99. Such is life. However, there is one omission that will haunt me all the way to the organ donation table -- back in the mid to late sixties I was living in NYC's East Village - for those not of a certain age & geography that means the Electric Circus, The Gaslight, Cafe Wha and my favorite -- the Fillmore East. It was at this time that I purchased my first 'real' camera -- a Nikon F Photomic T.

Unfortunately I shamefully underutilized that classic cam, being more interested in smoking the atmosphere then photographing it. There was so much cultural history to document - the clothes, the architecture, the protests and most dear to my heart & ears - the music. Like all moments, fleeting and quickly gone for good.

Today while meandering around a street fair I came across a stall selling, what were they called, oh yes, records. And I ain't talking Perry Como - there they were, shrink wrapped and for sale (at much higher prices then I recall) - my guitar gods and demon voices risen from back in the day.

Keep shooting -- life has this exasperating way of kissing the senses and then moving swiftly down the road.
Gear: D700 + 28-300 VR and ...
and some herbal associates

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