Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
Obscurity
Wednesday, April 8th, 2009
When the light is just right, the wind behaving, the subject unaware, that’s when you take the shot. When the shot is perfect, that’s when it’s art. When it’s art, that’s when there are reviews, maybe raves, maybe even fame.
I don’t shoot art. I don’t shoot porn either, but I definitely don’t shoot art. Fame is not in my future.
Sitting in a tree at 11:30 pm you really get a sense of perspective. The house, the windows with no blinds or curtains, the bed in plain view and lit like a landing strip. Waiting for someone to walk past a window so you can zoom in and catch their faces.
A blond girl, topless and bronzed, walks past one window and aims for the bed. Her facial features are clear as a bell, so that means she’s nobody. I get a few nice shots for shits and giggles. Yeah, I know. Sometimes I do shoot porn. So what? We’re all perverts in one way or other. I view the images on my eyescreen and upload them immediately to the marketplace. The first offer I get in seconds. It’s a good offer. Maybe she is someone after all.
I consider some close-ups of her tits, but that’s when he enters the room. His face is so blurry I know this is a bigger money shot. These days, everyone truly important is obscured. Actors, politicians, rock stars, social media celebrities. Unless you pay their fees, royalties in advance. It’s simple: aim and shoot, and a quick micropayment to clarify the image.
That is, unless your brother is a hacker who likes to circumvent DRM on general principle. I cycle through my eyescreen menu and pull up the special functions Johnny installed for me.
A message pops up in my vision. I don’t know the sender. “I wouldn’t do that,” it reads. “You have no idea know what you’re doing.”
A moment’s hesitation. The guy in my viewfinder could be anyone. He could be a rich executive, a senator, a film director. The message sender could be anyone. He could be a talent agent, a lawyer, a cop.
I take the shot, capture the image, transfer it to my eyescreen. It takes a second or two for me to realize who the guy is. Not a celebrity, not a politician, and yet both. You don’t rise to the top of an organized crime syndicate without getting noticed. Not in the 21st century. It’s hard to live in obscurity when you’re that rich and infamous.
I upload the image immediately and wait for the death threats and offers to roll in.
Sometimes, yes, damn right it’s art.
Protected Sex
Tuesday, April 7th, 2009
The knock comes just after sundown. Melly gets up from the table and opens the door, laughing about it maybe being Flora back from her date early.
Instead, the taller of the pair flashes a badge. “Agent Blakely, SIAA,” he says. “Amelia Ranning?” When she nods he pushes past her and sees me. “And John.” He consults a photo on cheap printer paper. “He’s the one.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. The chicken, the potatoes, the broccoli in front of me lose all their allure in a second. I stand. “What’s this all about?”
“When it’s us, sport,” he says. “There’s only one thing it’s about.” He looks me up and down with too much familiarity. “This you?” He holds out the photo.
I glance. He’s got me, all right. I nod.
“John?” It’s Melly. “John, what are they saying?”
“Copyright infringement,” I say. Congress long ago criminalized copyright piracy. “They’re with the Sexual Industry Association of America.” Don’t eff with the Mouse, as someone said back in the 20th.
“Sex?” she says. Melly and I only do it in the dark; it’s safer that way in this age of ubiquitous cams.
“Not just sex,” says Agent Blakely. “Protected sex.” He laughs at his joke; he means ‘protected’ as in ‘copyrighted’. Most sexual positions are public domain through long use; through prior display in various manuals and movies. It takes imagination or luck — bad luck, in my case — to get on these guys’ radar. He whaps the photo with a couple of fingers. “Caught on webcam and posted to MyFace at fourteen-oh-two hours day before yesterday.”
Melly frowns, looking from me to the agents. “Fourteen? That’s, what, during the day?” She’ll have it figured out soon.
“You’ve got me,” I say to the agents. “Let’s hit the road.”
Blakely moves to the window by the front door, twitches aside the curtain. “It won’t be long now,” he says.
Melly and I hear it at the same time. The distinctive sound of Flora’s motorcycle. Her date’s over.
Blakely’s partner moves a little to place himself between Melly and me. Blakely opens the door for Flora. He glances down at the photo, then back up to her.