Have you ever wondered…

…where your bartender or waitron is when your glass is empty or there's a slug in your salad? Well, I now have photographic evidence of what we've all suspected:

They really can turn invisible!

I took that picture Saturday night at the Camouflage Spaceship show and, in its novelty, it represents the only interesting shot of the entire evening, as my camera's batteries died and Room 9 is so incredibly dark that the band-members had to use flashlights to find things. So, unless my Photoshop skills improve to deific levels, there will be no photography mega-post. I may write up a show review, but I use those italics there to call attention to the overwhelming if-iness of that possibility.

In other news, I did some "free-writing" over lunch today:

073107_1221_BlankPages

Blank pages are always impressive, sometimes even more impressive than filled ones. Blank pages speak of possibilities; of empty spaces wishing to be filled. So much of our lives revolves around empty spaces: the times we spend waiting, procrastinating even; the times when we don’t know what comes next, or what may’ve just happened; the expressions we see in the faces of the folks around us when we’ve said or done something, or nothing at all; the space we will ourselves to drop into when we slide into sleep, drop our thoughts and cares and all semblance of order and surrender to the black “whatever” we need and too often crave.

Emptiness speaks of desire, and desire is always a tricky emotion, carrying with it the possibility of fulfillment and of fulfillment denied.

Filled pages speak of an ending, a finish, of the lack of possibilities. A filled page is done, static, resistant to change. There is no desire in a filled page―it’s monolithic order. Change it and it is no longer the same page, but an entirely different one.

Ultimately, a filled page speaks of death.

If you had any doubts about my ability to torture a metaphor until it shrieks for mercy, you may now lay those concerns to rest.