I shot this photograph on a porn set in a house over the Sunset Strip. The girl didn't know me. The guy did. The guy said to the girl of me, She's OK. Then, I shot them. Later, he told me, She fucks like a man. I believed him. Last night, I watched "No Country for Old Men." Late to the party, I know, but, my god, what a party. It turned Texas into the moon. And it was food for thought for me. Especially in terms of it being about chance while I'm working on a novel about Mr. Chance. Anton Chigurh is awesome. I am pretty sure I want to marry him. Nothing like a psychopath to protect a girl from the world's more murderous impulses. Who knew a haircut could invoke so much terror? I yelped copiously. In reality, Chigurh is humanity, an endless, toiling surge that refuses to die. My girlfriend begged to differ. Yay! I've loitered on the sets of pornography. I know better. Now, the road of my life is turning back again, and what looks to be ahead would appear to be a kind overlapping. What happens when time collapses, reverse overlaps this? They're all signs, I suppose. It's up to me to figure out which way to go next. And: Nothing is real except chance.
He shook his head. You're asking that I make myself vulnerable and that I can never do. I have only one way to live. It doesn't allow for special cases. A coin toss perhaps. In this case to small purpose. Most people don't believe that there can be such a person. You can see what a problem that must be for them. How to prevail over that which you refuse to acknowledge the existence of. Do you understand? When I came into your life your life was over. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the end. You can say that things could have turned out differently. That they could have been some other way. But what does that mean? They are not some other way. They are this way. You're asking that I second say the world. Do you see?
Yes, she said, sobbing. I do. I truly do.
Good, he said. That's good. Then he shot her.
