took this a few minutes before I received my Brassai book: odd. Been busy in the photo department as of late. Shot an event last night and going tomorrow morning to set-up for a showing at my friends' shop. Editing all this week from last night's said event and printing and framing for said show opening on Thursday. Both fun and stressful. Trying to wedge everything else in between: a presentation on a critical article on Ulysses, tons of reading, a short essay on Death in Venice and dream-state Orientalism (I know, it all sounds full of shit to me too). Just made some coffee and flipped through my book of 1930s Paris night shots--it has filled me with both a steady melancholy and a second wind to carry on. So much paradoxical tugging, it seems, so much dichotomous haziness. Perhaps: Bonne nuit.