A year has passed since the most dramatic events of 2012, one of which was a trip I took to Woodstock and what I posted on my blog when I got back.
The tension a year ago was also tied to my posting of a photo she sent me when she was perched on her roof top.
Both photos so enraged her she even called me demanding I remove them.
The roof top photo has an interesting history because she actually sent it to my phone weeks, maybe even a month, prior to that night she took to the roof top after I stupidly left her at the bar in Hometown.
Like the photo she sent me with her “friends,” the roof top photo was too dark for me to make out until I downloaded it later and lightened it, startled to find her face and the five floor drop to the street behind her.
I had forgotten all about the photo until the day after she freaked out over the bar incident and added it to a poem I posted urging her not to consider leaping off the roof.
She went ape shit and demanded I remove the image, and later posted a poem of her own about intellectual property.
As I said earlier, the time between when she sent me the photo and when she freaked out was about a month, making me wonder later just how many times prior to the night I left her at the bar she had sought refuge on that roof, and to whom she initially meant to send the photo a month earlier when she accidentally sent it to me.
She could not have meat our temporary boss, unless she had focused on him much sooner than I thought.
More than a year later, the reason for her sending me the photo when she did remain an unsolved mystery, perhaps if meant for me, serving as some kind of plea for help, even when her poetry rejected it.
Yet posting it when I did fed into her wrath and her conclusion that I was stealing pieces of her past, intellectual property theft.
The second photo had an equally curious history because it came about from my yearly trip to Woodstock where my poet friend resided for several years, and where she managed to trickle up to management of a popular eatery there.
Normally, I made the trip there in August – around the annual anniversary of the famous concert by that name. Although the concert had not taken place in Woodstock village, we knew there would be a musical celebration none of the less, and tried to catch them. This was a ritual that we maintained since the early 1990s. And as usual, I took a significant number of photographs and videos, capturing every small detail I could, fearing something might not be there the next time I came, such as things like the long-gone Tinker Street Café.
When we arrived, we paused at the community center, where one of the vendors pulled me aside and informed me that I “Walked with God,” something I later incorporated into a poem and posted it along with a number of photos I had taken – among which was the sign for the restaurant she previously worked at.
Admittedly, it was a provocative act.
I didn’t go into the restaurant or even talk to anybody who worked there. I hadn’t gone to Woodstock on account of her at all, yet knew when I posted that one particular picture, it would piss her off.
I didn’t know how pissed off she would get until later when she called screaming for me to remove the photo, which I eventually did, damage already done, having escalated our conflict to a new disturbing height, and for which she would never forgive me.
The combination of my posting these two photos, leaving her at the bar, and talking about her to our temporary boss, created a narrative of negativity I could never make amends for regardless of how hard I tried. The icing on the cake came a month later when I foolishly did the most idiotic thing possible when I texted her wishing her a happy birthday.
The Woodstock part of all this contains an even stranger irony in that I had paid Woodstock a visit on the 40th anniversary of the concert where I took the usual photos and videos and later posted a video putting together music audio with images from around the village.
The irony is that she lived there at the time. While the video did not include any place she worked (how could I, I hadn’t even met her at the time), but I used shots from the street near her restaurant, and in some clips, there are women who strongly resemble her, passing the village square where the musicians played.
God only knows what she might have thought if I had posted this video on my blog last year. Would she have accused me of pulling a “Back to the Future,” somehow managing to travel back in time to catch her in the act back then.
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