Rose & Olive
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom
1. happiness, exhiliration, immediacy, delay, 2. green green green, 3. from the same poem in which is included: "think of my hip as it lay" and "I stir my martinis with a screw", 4. thrusting for one, 5. Untitled, 6. , not quite., 7. Can you see my left red foot?, 8. you forever knew., 9. moles, blades, tips and sheets, 10. rose. finally alone with me in the western inn., 11. something like happiness, 12. Untitled
a mosaic of rose and olive’s enchanting photos, and a little diptych of my own…
Rose, Olive and Me
I don’t know rose and olive.
But I’d like to.
Intimately, (parenthetically), diptychally, upside-downally, sidewaysey, peripherally, diagonally, metaphysically, psychically, physically, poetically, from-a-distance-y (a long-ways-away-sy), closely and closer-again-y. Each and every improbably and impossibly-possible way—I’d like to know them (y).
They live in Texas though, and I live in New York City (note: everyone knows NYC is the equivalent of any state in the union).
So, despite the distance, I decided that today would be a perfect day to get to know them. Thus, today I have taken a look at each and every of their photos, and read each tag, and thought about every comment that their fans have left behind.
Fortunately (for me), by a sequence of unfortunate events (for them), that wasn’t too hard to do though, because they’ve only got 57 photos up right now.
They used to have something like 57,000 up at one time—I think they pissed someone off, instigated a revolution, advocated free love or were just expressing their idiosyncrasies a little too much for someone else’s narrow-minded tastes, something like that; so than one thing led to another, and ultimately their inaugural account (tetheredbythesun) was axed.
Thus, therefore, hence, and furthermore, they’ve begun anew—started all over again. And I have taken advantage of them and their misfortune in order to create my ode.
Anyway, so I took a look.
I hadn’t really done so before. Sure, I had scanned, skimmed, gawked and spent some time perusing—immediately confusing love, infatuation and appreciation with lust. But, I really hadn’t delved, although I’ve long intended to do so ever since.
Ultimately, I concluded—I’d like to sleep with them.
Sex is wholly, truly—really—entirely optional though. I just think it would be nice to close my eyes upon a smile, after a long winter night whittling time away, spoon-feeding chocolate pudding, getting high (on life) while regaling ribald adventures, and making fun of Double-Yah (George, the monkey that would be made an emperor).
Like a voyeur from above, I can see how I’d have Rose on one side and Olive on the other—Olive on her belly, her palm pressed lithely upon my breast, and Rose’s right hand is clasped tight in my left, her head leaning upon my shoulder, her left knee bent and resting upon my left thigh (sigh). The shot: Olive’s hand, my smile, Rose’s closed eyes.
This is my dream, nothing more, nothing less—my personal, less-than-lurid vision, the PG version of every man’s fantasy.
Otherwise, looking at their photos makes me ponder, wonder, contemplate, debate (if only with myself), imagine running away with them—hitchhiking, trespassing, small-time pilfering and making suggestive photos of them with lonely, skinny truck drivers who have given us rides to dusty, hideaway roadside motels.
cut down the middle,
because they are stronger-than-you,
more beautiful for it.
A tab of saliva,
strange motorcycle men…
Nonetheless and allthemore, despite this cursory look into their lives, one thing was certain for me from the very beginning:
Rose and Olive are Extra Ordinary.
They are extraordinary gals, they’d make extra ordinary pals, they are extraordinary artists and extraordinary friends (with each other), extraordinary photographers who are extraordinarily enigmatic.
In essence, they are magic.
And thus like Madonna, Arnold, My Boys (Enzo & Nicky) and Steve Irwin, today they, Rose and Olive, are my heroes too.
Thus, and that’s why—I’d like to know them.