Conceptually, I loved the sense of this photograph. The interplay with the black of the desk, and the same filtered black on the page of the book really grabbed me; as if reality tried writing itself out in ink. Ink, surely conjures up an image of running blood and to think of that spilled ink in words on canvas as most-morbid black and deadly-deafening off-white makes the aesthetic delightful to my dangerous palate--assuming the feeling of having many palates is assumed accurately to be a predominate trait in human beings.
We are an interesting, interesting species. My, how our own divinity humbles us. I like those that think of humility as a blessing, I find it much more accurate than the former.
I once trained a new salesman--a reoccurring theme in my thus far brief tale--who went on for the whole day about the Gospel group he was in with his large family. We walked on the sidewalks of a small neighborhood north of Dayton. It was sunny, it was a beautiful day actually, and at the end of it, I asked the day's running commentary on self-satisfaction if he thought he was humble. I believe I was going through my conversion around this time, or at least in the beginning stages of it, and it was as effortless as it is for me to ask these same questions currently--frankly, they will aide in my friends abilities to accomplish the task at hand.
My friend, he said he was the most humble man I'd ever meet.
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