There is an island off the coast of NJ in the Atlantic Ocean called Sandy Hook. It’s about 60 miles from where I live. Most of the island was at one time part of Fort Hancock. There they tested munitions that would be used on Navy Ships. It was decommissioned in the early ’70s and not much has been done with it since.
Miriam confused me. She wasn’t slender, and she wasn’t large… I would describe her as being voluptuous. Her clothes were always new. Her hair and makeup were always perfect. She smelled perfect too. I was attracted to her but in a fakakta* way. I lusted after her, but she annoyed the crap out of me.
Gerard Exupery has been writing articles for 35mmc for a little over 6 months now. They are some of the least conventional articles that I publish, but almost universally seem to be appreciated by readers. He’s now in the process of putting together his second self-published book which his is looking to crowdfund soon. In the run up to that – and in a bid to help to him promote it – rather than just let him ramble on in the way he usually does, I thought it might be interesting to ask him a few questions about his background, his work, and why he does what he does. The following is a slightly edited transcription of an email conversation we had to that effect:
It’s another beautiful day in paradise. Dark, and rainy. It’s one of those days that suggest the beauty of film. F-stop wide open, the darkness and grain, the feeling of an impressionist painting. It makes me think of being with someone I love hidden away from the world. There’s a bottle of Merlot we’ve been nursing, and we are creating images together. Clothing optional.
My mother used to say that when she was young she wished she had learned to smoke cigarettes. Because she always liked the smell of tobacco and it looked sophisticated. But she just couldn’t do it. She also said that she wished she could have had a part-time membership in the mafia. I have no idea what that was about. She not once ever said she wished she had gotten a tattoo or two.
