Ghost Pictures

Oh dear.

I did, in fact, enter the Commie Pinko Writing Contest.  And now that means I actually need to write something.  A nonfiction something about ghost pictures.  Or, tangentially about ghost pictures.  Or somehow occupying a place together in the Great Venn Diagram in the Sky with ghost pictures.  You get the idea.

I feel like I've been thinking about ghosts a lot, lately.  Or, I've been thinking about things that used to exist, which is kind of the same thing.  I think a ghost is anything that I can summon, behind my eyelids or inside my throat, even though I know it doesn't exist.

I am trying to brainstorm what I might say, so that I am better prepared when I try to say it.  But it's very hard to think about writing something without actually, you know, writing something.  It's the everything but, which I was never very good at maintaining once the clothes were off.  Everything but always just turned into anything goes, which turned into a vague sense of disappointment and lingering smell of cigarettes.

I turn everything into sex.  I could probably play "six degrees of sex" in which I take random thoughts and link them to sex, with no more than six connections. 

Or I could do something else.