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Never stop chasing your nightmares.

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"Dendritic depressions"

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Steel in rain

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"Some things are buried deep"

My mom had a boyfriend when I was about eight. Johnny Moore. I can't

recall when Johnny showed up. I know it was after my mom's second marriage,

which lasted about as long as the first and resulted in offspring, my sister, who

also would grow up never knowing her dad. Johnny was wirey, high-strung

ectomorph with fire in his eyes who looked like Jesus but talked like a

dockworker. He didn't talk to me much. I stayed out of the way, listening to their

raised voices through the thin walls of the trailer. After a time, Johnny offered to

take me fishing. I didn't really want to go but I didn't understand the extension of

the offer as a choice, because it wasnt.

Johnny drove an old pickup truck, with bench seats covered in scalloped

vinyl that the manufacturer didnt even bother to press in the pattern of fake

leather, and a gun rack in the back window. After throwing the tackle in the bed,

Johnny told me to get in he knows a place. We drove a bit through the rolling,

strip-mine-scarred hills of rural Ohio, but I dont remember how far. Eventually,

Johnny turned off the road on to dirt double track clearly labeled 'Private: Do Not

Enter' and 'No tresspass' and with a drooping chain between two posts. He

hurriedly jumped out to unlatch the chain with that lack of casualness that

screams you dont want to see anyone looking back at you. He quickly got back in

the still running truck after pausing to crane his neck over the hood. The action

would be comical if it came from someone of more even temper. I asked if maybe

we weren't supposed to be here. Johnny brushed off my question with a we'll be

fine and put it in gear.

We crawled along eventually coming to a part of the double track running

up sideways on the side of a hill. In retrospect, I think this was an earthen dam.

The track had to skirt a ravine below the dam that might have been 6 or 8 or 20

feet down. In my memory, the sideways lean of the truck as Johnny laughed with

yang sanpaku eyes was easily 30 degrees. Maybe more like 45. Even before we got

to the steepest part I knew there was no way this was safe. Eventually I found

myself hanging on to the door handle with my foot braced against the dash so i

didnt slide down the vinyl and crash into Johnny's flank. The thought of the feel

of my side involuntarily pressing into his, all ribs and heat, vibrating with his

laughter, horrified me so I hung on and tried to add my weight to the high side. I

learned then that most cars and trucks, at least those unmodified to ride high or

manufactured with an eye towards profit and not safety, have a remarkably low

center of gravity and can usually navigate such angles no problem.

We made it around the hill and up onto a small sandy shore. The pond

wasn't large but it wasnt small either. I'd guess now at about an acre. Johnny set

to fishing immediately and with maniacal energy. I don't know how he knew

about this place. I don't know if he knew the owners or heard about it second-

hand but immediately when his bait hit the water a fish grabbed it and grabbed it

hard, bending his pole into a symbol for "intersection" ∩. He cried out to get the

bucket from the truck and I did. He had the fish out when I got there. I didn't

know much about fish back then, and I suppose still dont. I knew bluegill which

are sometimes called sunfish or breem and I knew catfish. If I were to guess these

were bass, but maybe not large mouth, or maybe they were. Johnny put the fish it

the bucket where it thrashed and he threw the line back in the water without even

adding bait. A second fish was in the bucket only moments later. Johnny laughed

and his eyes glowed.

I knew this wasn't natural and I know moreso now. I've spent hours and

hours with a line in the water, trying unsuccessfully to convince myself I enjoyed

fishing, and haven't caught half the fish Johnny did that day. The bucket was full

before too long and the rest were flipping around in a grassy area near where

Johnny was pulling them out. They looked like animated chrome. Johnny

eventually moved over to a sandier area that sloped into the water at a decent

angle. With no bucket and no flat place to put the still writhing fish, I was quickly

instructed how to hold them. After two fish hung on each hand I had no way to

hold the third. Johnny irritated told me to put my foot on it. But the fourth was a

real issue. Without missing a beat Johnny told me to stand on them. I was eight

and had no sense but I knew this wasnt going to work and said so. Johnny smile

faded and said to make it work so I did. I am sure I wasnt over 100 lbs then but

those poor fish I am confident were suffering under my heel. It wasnt long though

that the one under my left foot wriggled a heroic wriggle and escaped into the

water. You werent even trying was Johnny's way of saying that its ok we have

plenty of fish.

After the sun went down the bats came out. I marveled at them as I tried to

keep my eye on them, to see their details. I mentioned something about how

amazing they were and Johnny said oh you want to see them and grabbed the

shotgun out of the back window of the truck. Blam blam blam but the bats were

too deft. Maybe a minute later I could here the patter of birdshot as it rained

down on the leaves in the forest.

It was late winter when my mom, trying to get Johnny to leave his seat at a

bar, lost the orbit of her eye to a drunk Johnny's fist.

I don't think about Johnny much.

©️Chris Reiter, 2025

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Chiaroscuro study: Orange

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"Orange you glad..."

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Taiga

Holga magic on D850

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Cold Harbor

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Glenstone, 15FEB2025

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Glenstone, 15FEB2025

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"Pha Mac"

Been a rough month

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"Even Brushstrokes"

Taken on iphone, edited in Lr

11/365

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"Art squared"

Some random art in a Pittsburgh museum. So I snapped it and made it both less and more than it was.

I see it as a commentary on gatekeeping luxury items. But when you get by, its just empty bottles. And wax hands. If you look close those hands are interlocked and thumbs down. You cant get your hands like that on a table without contorting yourself significantly. Just means you went through all that trouble and for what? But now you have to keep up the charade so you don't look like you're been had. You have to show everyone ELSE how wonderful the lux is so you're not the last one to fall for the crap. You take on the wax face of a Tussaud display. The cycle continues.

I say burn it all down. Light the wick.

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“WHO! are you?”

Owl butterfly (genus Caligo), Brookside Butterfly house, 2013-ish

D7000 on 105mm micro, 1/60 sec @ f/3.5, ISO 250

9/365

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"A Most Resplendent Flag."

From 2013. Not sure where.

D7000 on 50mm f/1.8 @ 1/5000 sec, f/1.8 (why? smh), ISO 100.

8/365

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"Big Stretch"

Taken with iPhone and edited therein

7/365

If this is a duplicate, my apologies

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It's a frozen pond turned ninety degrees clockwise. Not super sure I like this. Anyway, I've been editing some of these from jpegs (using Nikon's SnapBridge) and it hasn't been terrible for screens as long as I don't adjust the exposure. (Can't print obs cuz of the compression artifacts) Kinda surprised. I thought jpegs were trash to edit.