But I am still trying to figure it out. Seriously. It is a new discovery. I might just be a prick, but I am really not sure. Turns out I have been lying to myself, and in turn, the two or three people that read this fodder. I will explain for those that have been loyal so far.

Several months back my oldest and dearest friend turned on me. He told me something I didn’t want to hear. This is really not something you want a friend to do. Why have friends if they are just going to attack you? That is what enemies are for. So my friend, he attacks me. He tells me that I don’t write like me. In other words, the person he has known, longer than anyone other than blood relations or my wife (are we really getting close to twenty years honey?), is not the person he reads when he reads the words I tack up with my pictures (you decide what that is up there, I thought I knew). So everything to this date, according to said friend, has not been real. Or to put it in his words, the writing has been guarded. He says he is just being honest. I fall back to the thought, who really wants an honest friend? Again, not really sure that is a trait most people look for in friendship. Now, I would have removed him from the short list of people that I would even listen to long enough to get this out, but it turns out I think he is right. Which really sucks. I hate when he is right. It doesn’t happen often, but damn, it sure hurts when it does. And if he knows me that well, he should know that the urge to go rewrite everything I have posted to date would kick in. I refrained. For your sake and mostly just mine. I barely had enough time to get that drivel onto a page the first time.

Not to bore you any more with the details of this many month long conversation, but the discussion ranged through all levels of why and for what reason I might be holding back, being guarded with what I say, and flat out staying safe. Said friend even went so far as to stab me in the back, or in his words, he said I was afraid to fail. (Is that not the same thing?) I spent my formative years overcoming that hurdle with the pictures, now I am being told my words are afraid too. Somebody get me a couch, I need to lie down.

Now I come to the why and the title of this little story. The truth is that I don’t care about you people enough to be guarded around you. I don’t even know you, so why would I worry how my words come across to you. And it counters everything I believe in. The only reason I could really come to grips with for being guarded  is that I don’t want to give you any more of me than I give you through the pictures. I put a lot into them and you don’t deserve any more, otherwise you would be on that short list mentioned above. There is also this dichotomy that occurs with a forum like this. I hate the people who put everything out there in hopes that you love something—anything. I am not here to be loved for just anything. I am here for the art. That is all that is important to me. My whole point in writing here was so we didn’t have to spend so much time figuring out if we even like each other in relation to the art. Who has time for that? You see, there is the a**hole—I have already decided I might not like you. Which kind of takes the pressure off you too. You can be natural. And I can just get to talking about the art. Then you can decide if you want to have nothing to do with the a**hole, or maybe you kind of like him and want to get on that short list.

Thus begins the legend of the head.