Self-Portrait with Imaginary Brother

I read a word recently that I noticed.
A word I really liked.
Osculation.
To osculate is to buss.
To buss is to kiss.
But the familiar sound of osculation only belies its fantastical nature.
A word that sounds like oscillate, like undulate, like ambulate, coagulate , a physical word that uses our lips to say it and to feel it. How do you say a word that emerges like a plastic octagon, caressing the middle crease of your lips, scratching languidly the soft flesh and falling out with all its gentle weight. It floats to the ground, heavy, your flesh on its edges, a serigraph of a living geometry. A chimera, inanimate and animated, using blood on its surface ,for lack of other supply, no veins, no arteries; bloodshed its only source of life.

This weekend my Rolleiflex locked up. This makes me sad. I love this camera, it takes pictures that I cannot believe I have been a part of. It is at Nippon Photo Clinic getting treatment.
The guys there are all so super nice, all Japanese, all the time. It smells faintly of cameras, film emulsion and cigarette smoke. I find this lovely.
At work today, I was forced to produce for the internet. A swirl of javascript and SWFs and FLA's and HTML screaming at me, through my apparent incompetence, the ugliness of UBER NERDs Unite. I feel more a part of the future than I have in my entire life. And yet I am very hopeful.