develope life

the rush, it never changes. its the glare of the lights and smell of the chemicals. the music drowning out thought, and i still don't hear it, its all just felt. every negative carefully chosen, cleaned, and placed. three enlargers, all set up for black and white. i work on 2-5 at any given time. constantly bouncing from one to another double exposing, and reprocessing. its not even a science, or an art, its frantic. thinking of 10 other things for every one i look at. in crease time change filter stack negatives, shreds of paper make test sheets but rarely do they ever see the light. there is none.  in side or out. solarization is a far off fantasy. i feel my hands start to shake, possibly from the music, my eyes close moving by memory through the process counting the beats in my head, thetas how long ill process, follow the beats, forget clock, forget the process, forget the trays take a brush, develop only the areas you want, then fix them and super impose the rest, until the images flow endlessly from one to another. this is my soul on paper, a flick of light, foreign to my eyes, i jump then the smoke fills my lungs, hands still shaking, the wash bucket so full of life the water wont circulate. i lean on the wall. almost out of breath. with pictures hanging on strings in a closet. the chemicals all over my hands and arms and cloths, i hate the smell of vinegar, but fixer is intoxicating. i slide to the floor and sit, perfectly still, exhausted listening to the water flow trickle off the wash, the music switches tracks, Imogen Heap sings me to sleep while Guy Sigsworth manipulates the room. every thing else fades. ill see the room in the morning.