Holy Daze

 

OK, Here We Go. It's 'That Time' again. Everything goes all gingery and there are spurious instances of ballet. Everyone that you know starts throwing food at you. In the "Spirit Of Relative Happiness", "Relative Nervousness", or "Relative Discomfort", total strangers begin to stand around in groups on street corners and sing at you in order to cover their symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder... people put bells on the most inappropriate things...the whole place smells like a juniper bush...This Tends To Drive People To Drink...

Failed...?

 

 

There is the theory of the happy accident.

Halucinations.

From Time To Time, I experiment with the various graphics programs that have fallen upon me over the years since I acquired my first computer [a 66mhz HP with 16mb of RAM and a whopping 325 megabyte hard drive]. Even then, in my pre-scanner days, I began to manipulate some of my photographs. Recently I picked up my digital brush again to satisfy my urge to do something more.

The Edge Of Sanity

Life in the New Millennium is supposed to be ripe with opportunity and Challenging Choices. Or so the official landscape is painted. But lately, I see more and more adults without the skills of common courtesy, basic communication, and/or the ability to perform even the simplest mundane maintenance activities. And yet, these very same individuals seem to be the most vocal in demanding “the respect that they so rightly deserve” while denying the very same to others doubly talented, skilled, or reverent. Makes You Wonder Just How Many Rude, Talent-less Hacks are in charge.

Poetry In Place

About a decade ago, I used to haunt certain establishments on certain evenings [usually the off nights]. This would generate, after a while, a group of men sitting around talking and drinking [or not drinking, as the case might have been] instead of trying to get laid. So it was on one of these Monday nights, that I happen to bring in a few recently printed color shots that I had taken of the bartender to give him as a gift of appreciation for being a “model” citizen.

Upon seeing these images, my regular left and right shoulder cronies began to talk about how they [the photographs] were so ‘not-what-they-expected’. “You Did That?” said Left, “You can shoot my picture anytime you want…not tonight, though…” to which I replied: “Cool. Hey, what about you?” this last directed at Mr. Right, who responded with words to the effect of ‘you’re not serious’ and ‘I might break your lens’…long story short, he agreed and a couple of weeks later, he was comfortably responding to my creative suggestions.

Things That Make You Go: . . . "WhatTheF..."

Strange things tend to happen when I try to post from a browser other than IE7 . . . That's All I'm Going To Say. Do Enjoy These Images Of My Friend Juan, Though.

Not So WayBack - Stanislaus

Here's A Guy With A Completely Unabrasive Personality, A Genuine Smile (although not in these photographs) And The Most Beautiful Curly Hair All Over His Butt.

The Amazing Gift

Not Quite So Far Back As My Last Set Of Images (yet still a while ago) , I had the opportunity to photograph a pleasant individual. He had beautiful skin, very long legs, and very few inhibitions. We eventually created a large number of works of art.

The WayBack Machine.

Recently, while organizing the chunk of photos that I keep around to use in my current effort at making my talents known to a greater populace, I uncovered some images made during my transition from photos of clouds, vases, paintings. silverware, rugs and furniture to photos of men.

Hüsdat ... ?

Just Your Average Fat Day...

Polaroid Positive/Negative Film

... A Thousand Years And Basically The Same ...

Text? or Fotos ...

I still seem to be having just a tiny bit of trouble getting my text to fit on my page ... yet another reason to be less verbose. Here is the re-posting of my images of my good friend and model citizen Nick Stone.

Up From The Ashes

I'm Back... I had a short [depending on your frame of reference] lapse in the cooperation that I was receiving from my electron scanning minions that made it damn near impossible to do any of the things that I've gotten
so used to over the past six months. This made me stop and think: I don't need
to write the Great American Essay every time that I post an Image. ... As much as I might have to say, I don't necessarily have to say it. This place is about the things I can say without words. The only thing to say now is: Watch this space.