Jimmy Blevins said the pink aint what it used to be

Rust Belt,
Its a fine line between a cheap sale and candid declaration.

acid tongue

"Dearest Friends,

If you are reading this, it means I have passed on. I have instructed my attorney Richard (last name withheld), to distribute this notice to a select number of friends/business associates who I was close with. If this doesn’t get distributed then fuck you Richard. If one of you could get in touch with Dr. (name withheld) in Croatia, I would appreciate it. He and I have lost touch over the years, in part due to our unfortunate falling out over the location of Vlad the Impaler's final resting place (you were right my friend). I would like for him to know that I didn't take what happened that summer in 2002 personally, and that I leave all remaining iron, urine samples and minerals to him. (He'll know what I'm talking about.) I hereby offer all control over C.O.U. to be shared between Reginald (last name withheld), Alphonse (last name withheld), and Walter (last name withheld). All supplies, materials, documents, ect, are now theirs, to be used however they see fit. Bickering over certain items (I'm looking at you, Reggie and Alphonse) will not be tolerated, even in the even of any paintball outings. I can only hope that they are able to carry on the good name of the C.O.U. community and continue to strive to meet the goals of the organization. The truth must be uncovered. To George Noory of Coast to Coast AM, for whom I have only scorn and ridicule for, I desperately beg you to abandon your close-minded ways. Your lack of acceptance for what you cannot understand limits you more than you’ll ever know. To Homeless Ned, I leave my collection of fabrege eggs, any remaining dry socks, and whatever money I had left stored in the cracks of the wall next to the adult video shop we talked about that he used to work at. It's been an interesting life, my friends, one full of action, travel, adventure, drinking, questionable scientific results, and most of all, one of sexual discovery. I can only hope that my death will have been the result of seeking for deeper truths and daring to ask, "What if..." I look forward to being reunited with my deceased parents, and my cousins, who both spontaneously combusted mysteriously within weeks of each other. It will be wonderful to hear your secrets. Not least of all, I also look forward to meeting all of you, my friends and allies, in the afterlife (hopefully not too soon, for your sakes, LOL!) and continuing our search for the non-existent.

I WILL HAUNT YOU ALL. Eternally yours,
(Real name withheld) aka Tastycakes~~~*"

Starchilds basket of dreams

In Bonnie Parkers autopsy photos it looks like she's smiling.

soar onwards no wing falcon of love

Fire and mountains and strippers and knives and blah blah blah blah I'm sooo exotic. I just want to watch the fucking baseball game. California blows, vegas is crazy, same ol same ol on the homefront. Stayed in Portland with a friend for a week, many very nice strangers and old friends have inconvenienced themselves and put me up for the night. For this I'm very grateful. No one as of yet has attempted to directly rob or stab me which is always refreshing. All in all this little tour de country is going well.
I'm shooting really weird shit, weird for me atleast. Which probably translates to less punchy work. Taken only like 2 portraits on this thing, none of which I'm psyched on. Dunno whats going on there but I gotta get my shit together and figure out what the fuck I'm doing. Nonetheless I've got an entire new body of work coming together from the summer, seems like its good.
I guess I could write a bunch of ridiculous stories of love, glitter, dinosaurs and angels walking the plains but I'm way too burned out to spin tales.
xoxo
Slowly losing my mind in the desert

Fuck Mountain refuses to turn on the heat

Been playin the lotto very frequently. Drinkan on Mondays and Tuesdays, when no one bothers you at the pink. Took a couple shitty portraits, couple good ones. A weird dyptych, a towny with a dog guided me to the cave where they party. Empty beer cans, shotgun shells. I think a serpentine belt. Shit water, dark corners where the hobos live. Boy said you aint gotta worry bout the locals, its the hoboes that will stab ya. Wake at dawn or sleep till 2, mosy through the factories on the bike when you drink too much and speedbumps become an issue. Money is tight, my jeans are getting looser. People look at me with small horror, like I have a choice to look this shitty. Can't tell em that that stray dogs don't fight each other when your alone in nowhere. I smell bad and people tell me a bunch of bullshit about dreams and triumph. No body sees angels no more, the ones that do, guess theyre living in caves. But who am I to talk right. Days are small triumphs and struggles to make it work, nightmares about skinny love and how the other half is living. I'll take the nightmares over the other. I'll be in Chama when the money, the luck, runs out. Thats fine. Like it that way. Sides, if were gonna have tales for the young ones, gotta make it a little eastwood, a little old times. Aint no shame in that, I'll bleed the well to a dream of angels and horses on a salt flat moon. Sometimes its like that.

"Sunoco does not accept the barter system for commerce"

I threw out my back digging a trench on Sunday and have subsequently suffered 3 days of extreme couch ridden boredom. Only the delight of arrested development, xbox and cigarettes has aided my slow recovery. Prior to that I'd been working my ass off and have about 12 new images as well as some pretty crazy dyptichs. Tons of new stuff to shoot starting tommorow, should have 30 new works by the time the month is over. I have nothing funny or witty to offer up at the moment. Bike is fixed, Buffalo is beautifull, staying out of trouble, getting shit done. New stuff is pretty wild.

Well shit, champagne, I didn't mean to hit him that hard

Kans Have been Jammed. Summer is upon us. We beckon its warm winds with shaeffer and belgium delights; We meet its nights with minor fisticuffs and gentlemanly games of dice and kan. Daily routine consists of fixing my bicycle, breaking my bicycle, making images I've wanted for years and sitting on my floor listening to Bon Iver. One can't complain, it is wrong to ask much of the trife life. Traded in alchoholism for coffee and monster energy drinks, traded marbs for mavericks, meals for pickens. Started training for summer, hiking with my 25lb pack in the woods, not eating, not drankin, livin off caffeine and mavericks. And Bon Iver. Got a few dyptichs lined up for this week. Gotta talk to some carneys and get em to stop the tilt a whirl for me. Man with a boat is gonna ferry me to a little church. Getting knucks tatt'd, staying far away from Buffalo gals. Gotta go to the casino and play cards to make extra scratch for my trip. no time for love Dr. Jones