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For one month, I have been working at a photography-related job. This is my first employment out of college, and a much better job than I expected to find with a journalism degree in this economic climate.

Our mission is to educate, inform and inspire other photographers. I will be using this page to share some of our stories and insights. Only those I feel like sharing, and only after we get a working website up.

Soon, my friends, soon.

On a related note, being in proximity of seriously talented photographers for the first time in months has inspired me to take this medium a little more seriously. I hope this will show in the things I post from here on out. Snapshots will hereafter be filed under scraps.

I hope you are all having a wonderful 2012.
  • Listening to: Souleye
  • Reading: Stranger in a Strange Land
  • Drinking: Peppermint Tea
Have you seen this man?


You have now.

He is a fantastic photographer, with a whole gallery of work well worth checking out (and much more located in other strata of the interwebs).

He was my first college roommate, he introduced me to this website, this community, and this medium of photography which has been my hobby and his passion.

He is now in the process of making a book. This book will feature his photos and his words. It is called A Photo Book For Lonesome Children, and is a very personal, and powerful, piece. I have seen little of it, but I have good reason to believe that the end product will be something well worth your while.

You can find out more about his book on the page below, which features a Kickstarter fund for his publishing process.…

His goal is to get 700 dollars to make this book happen. Pay over 40 and you get you a copy of the book. Sweet deal, eh?

So, go check it out. And happy holidays to you all.
  • Listening to: Gillian Welch
  • Playing: VVVVVV
  • Listening to: Talking Heads
  • Playing: Frozen Synapse
  • Drinking: Local Beer
I have a nasty habit of logging into this site when I am tired, drunk, or in a rush. And then not that often.

So I see all this art, but never bother commenting on it. I figure I'll get to it later.

Then it piles up, and I get this intimidating 70 messages icon.

Then I REALLY don't have time to go through and comment on things.

So I present a blanket statement:

You folks who's art I receive in my watch feed are making wonderful and fantastic works of art. I see things that capture powerful emotional landscapes in a single photograph. I see things that push the boundaries of realism in photography. I see work that, though simplicity or simple techniques, manage to convey moods of joy, mystery, buoyancy, and nostalgia. Keep up the good work.

This is a site I joined, in part, to be a part of a community of critical and thoughtful photographic artists. It is designed to be a place where compliments and critique can encourage people to grow as artists, to refine their technique and let praise encourage their technical accomplishments.

At least, that's how it looked when I started. It only really works if people are communicative and proactive about their comments and reactions.

I have not been communicative or proactive. For that I must apologize: You, the people whom I watch, have been creating wonderful art. Would that I had the energy to be an active commenter, and the patience to deal with this site when the server load drags it to a crowd.

Crap, this is turning into a downer of a journal entry.

Well, other business:

I have a job that occasionally lets me be the official photographer at events. That's pretty sweet.

Last thing I shot was a Halloween fundraiser party. It was a blast. I made my own skull shaped flash diffuser (pics coming soon) and did myself up as a zombie reporter. It was fantastic. A live band by the name of S'Cream played Cream, Clapton and Blind Faith covers in top form. They sang an absolutely beautiful rendition of "Can't Find My Way Home." If you don't know the song, it's IMHO one of the best songs of the 1960s:…

I can't exactly post said photos. Well, I can, but it gets to be a mess with copyrights and such. When I have my own website (which is not far away from happening) I will be making those things a little more accessible. Not that I'm THAT proud of my work for those folks, but it is fun.

I have other jobs, because this is a crap economy and one isn't enough. Basically, I am employed doing graphic design for a number of people. That's pretty awesome when it comes right down to it.

And I have a camera in good condition and plans to keep taking photos. That's good, too.

Good times. I hope y'all have a great November!
  • Listening to: Tobbaco
  • Reading: Blood Meridian
  • Playing: Flight
  • Eating: Top Ramen
Sorry, Nikon fans, I've crossed the fence.

This winter break, I bought a Cannon Rebel XTi from a friend of mine trying to escape the clutches of credit card debt. Probably not the wisest decision, considering I just graduated from college and have no job yet, but at least I can be creative with my time, right? Right...

Anyway, my Nikon is next to dead. The slot that keeps the memory card in place is loose, The light meter is off by eight stops or so, the LCD screen blows out highlights (even on underexposed images), and the process of offloading the photos on my computer is agonizingly slow. The new camera is a better deal. More megapixels, fewer problems, and in-camera monochrome settings which I have entirely too much fun with.

Because my friend was particularly impoverished, he threw in a very nice zoom/long/telephoto lens. It is awesome. With it, I shot about 300 photos (mostly of elk battling with big antlers) that I haven't yet uploaded here. Or edited. Mostly I've just looked at them.

My motivation to upload things has slackened somewhat. I'm still posting things that were shot in 2010. These things take time. Time is something I'm pouring into building a web portfolio for some page design stuff. Web design is not easy, but it feels deeply wrong to call it hard work. I could do that for a living...

So that's my story. New camera for a New year.

Hope 2011 is treating y'all quite nicely.
Another Dream:

Someone's at the door. A man is standing on the front porch in a gray post office uniform with a single letter in his hand with JURY SUMMONS stamped in big letters on the front. It was for me, of course. This was a big problem, because I was being called for jury duty in Moscow. This perplexed me a great deal. How, I asked the man, am I supposed to get to Moscow. He answers that it really isn't his problem, and that he had already taken too much time out of his day to come give me these summons. I replied that he was quite a bit late: I was supposed to appear in court that morning, and I was well over 10,000 miles from Moscow. He suggested that I take the subway, then turned on his heel and left. I stood there stunned for a moment, wondering where the nearest subway station was. My mother knew, and I asked if she would drive me there. She agreed, pointing out that not going to work that day was just the kind of irresponsible thing she had come to expect of me. I reminded her that missing work was significantly less important than missing jury duty, which is punishable by jail time and possibly execution. I got out of the car and boarded the next bullet train to Moscow. I watched the scenery fly by as the train flew through town after town.

The voice of a newscaster drew my attention to a large flat screen television at the front of the train car. A few of my fellow passengers were watching without much apparent interest. The story of the hour focused on a Russian billionaire and prominent business leader who had, apparently, been arrested because his latest business venture had involved demolishing inhabited buildings in the city of Moscow because they had become possessed. The man had been avoiding arrest for some weeks now; he owned large parts of the city, including a private airport, and was therefore very difficult to find (and thereby catch). At long last, however, he had been apprehended, and was sitting in his private jail awaiting trial. His wealth and influence, along with some influence owing to his wealth, had allowed him to insist on a jury selected randomly from all over the world. So this, I thought, is why I, along with 11 other randomly selected strangers, have been called to serve jury duty in Russia. That explains a lot.

Meanwhile, the newscast had switched to the man on trial. He was sitting in his private airplane hanger, explaining how Moscow had come to be possessed by demons. Still images of the Moscow skyline were spliced over the newscast, with specific buildings illuminated to show their possession. Some had paper horns stuck to them, others were colored curiously red. Some were skyscrapers, some where small houses or apartment buildings. One was a school, which was painted a dark red and had several pairs of ten foot high plastic devil horns sprouting from the roofs. The newscast cut to a shot of two middle-aged schoolteachers saying that they had never seen the horns before, and that their school used to be painted white just like it always was. Behind them, the school collapsed, folding in on itself like a house of cards. Our man had struck again.

The train arrived in Moscow, and I was swiftly escorted to his private court room. The room offered a view of the skyline I had seen just moments before on the TV. The defendant walked into the room, flanked by two guards. He was carrying a Dell laptop, which he opened up as the trial began. The prosecutor began a lengthy speech. This man, he said, is a danger to the city. Just this morning he demolished a school. He has blown up buildings with explosives, he has set them on fire, and he has irradiated entire city blocks under the guise of his so-called business. The business which he set up to rid the city of demonic possession, which was in itself a preposterous concept. Even if the buildings WERE possessed, said the prosecutor, the collateral damage has been obscene. An entire business district was taken out for the sake of removing a single possessed house, which was several miles from the effected area and unharmed after the evening's bombing. This man, the prosecutor finished, is a danger to this city.

As his speech wound to a close, I caught a glimpse of movement. A pair of missiles flew past the courtroom, en route to a skyscraper that was just visible from the courthouse. The missiles reached their target, but bounced right off it, becoming instantly immobile. They fell to the earth, crushing two small cars and an old woman walking her dog. There was a momentary silence in the court room. It was broken when the prosecutor, now red in the face, uttered four strangled words from the depths of his throat: He did it again.

Chaos erupted in the courtroom. Some people ran screaming for the doors, others began throwing empty bottles at the defendant. The defending attorney began making a very calm and collected speech, while the defendant himself ran out the back door, leaving his laptop and the jacket he had worn to court. My fellow jurors were screaming guilty verdicts at the top of their lungs as the judge slammed his gavel down, begging for order.

When calm had been restored, the judge asked that we take a recess. I was hungry, as was the juror next to me, a Chinese man versed in several languages. I suggested that we try to find some food in Moscow, to which he agreed. We set off up a street that was pleasantly complete; free of explosion debris or ruined buildings. We talked as we walked, mostly about the trial and the state of affairs in the courtroom. It wasn't long before we came to topic of being utterly unable to find a café in this town, a problem that was soon remedied by the appearance of a hot dog vendor.

After we had grabbed a bite to eat we turned around to see the rising sun reflecting off of the courtroom windows. We paused for a moment to admire the view before returning to the courthouse to pass judgment on the man who would try to destroy his whole city just to chase the devils out of it.
  • Listening to: Primus
  • Reading: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest

I was very young, perhaps ten or eleven. I had a younger brother who had a tendency to disappear. He had escaped from home at a young age, and had learned to live off of fruits, nuts, and catching prey in the jungle. My father had searched and searched for him: he had called the police and they had combed the forest, but never found him. Then one day, many months after he disappeared, he just showed back up at our house. Father was both outraged and relieved, holding him tightly, weeping, saying Don't you ever, EVER do that again. Well, he did it again; just vanished one day into the forest, gone for months living among the trees, surviving on his own with everything that his instincts. My sisters and I missed him terribly, but I always knew he would be alright. Sure enough, he would show up, time and time again, and every time father would clutch him and yell at him: never again, never again, never again. I could see my brother's face over my father's shoulder, always the same expression: I'll humor you. I'll behave. I'll stay. Only for a few days, though. I knew that brother could never be happy, not in this house, not with Father. So one day, he tried to escape again, and as he tried to scale our neighbor's hedge, his foot got caught. So I ran to him and freed his foot, and father was yelling at us and Brother started to run, barefoot, down the sidewalk and I was running, too, keeping pace with him until I realized we were in a city, by a bus station. He said, thanks, but I can just catch the bus from here. He told me where he was going, and said he had been there before, and that he always rode the bus for free, 'cause children under five always rode the bus for free. It's coming soon, he said, and I said, I have to go back home, I can't abandon my family and my schooling and Father, and he said, I get it. And I understood then, it wasn't his home, his home was in the jungle, and he could never really come back forever, so I told him: you better come back sometime. I just want to see you, so that I can know that you're okay, because I don't want you to die out there, and I know that you know what you're doing, and I hope you'll be okay, but I still want to see you every once in a while and he said Don't Worry. He said I'll visit you every new years day. And then his bus pulled up and he got on without a backward glance but I knew he would miss me and he always would, and that both of us would give anything for us to be together somehow but he knew and I knew that he really would visit every new years, and he really did visit every new years from then until we were both old, and I had moved to a new city and was married and living in a small house. He still came every new years day, every year, for as long as we were both alive. And that was a long, long time.

(I am an only child...)
  • Listening to: Tool
  • Playing: American McGee's Alice
  • Drinking: Beer
  • Listening to: Astronautalis
  • Reading: The Collector
  • Eating: Melted Skittles
The Lumberjack, my school's newspaper, has made me into a staff photographer for a semester. This is going to be a full time "job" (I won't be paid) of taking pictures for them. Some of them, I'll be uploading here.

Basically, this'll be a semester of realism, which is a little unusual for me. It will, I hope be a learning experience.

We shall see.
  • Listening to: Gentle Giant
  • Reading: Ursula K. Le Guin : Unlocking the Air
  • Playing: GemCraft
Well, it's still very much a work in progress but I have followed the links to create a DeviantArt portfolio:

I have to say that I am VERY impressed by how easy it was, and how clean it looks. I factually know that if I were trying to design a web page on my own, it would not look nearly so professional.

Normally, I don't put much thought into presentation (see my gallery) or into DA projects, but seriously, this is really cool. Seeing as I might try to make a career of this someday (when I grow up ;) ) this is a FANTASTIC tool. Almost fantastic enough for me to pay for a pro version, but I am in college, so that will not happen for quite some time.

But if you are a professional / would like to be: CHECK IT OUT!
  • Listening to: TV on the Radio
  • Playing: Defcon
Thanks to the wonders of the interwebs I have purchased myself a Nikon D70 digital SLR (Single-Lens Reflex) camera.

It was a decision made largely because my Pentax (made circa 1971) broke. Again. Fixing it was becoming both a serious investment and a chore, as the only man who can do it is approaching 90 years in age.

My other reason for going digital (My coolpix doesn't count) is that I am going to be, at the end of the summer, a staff photographer for my college newspaper, the Lumberjack. I have shot photos for them before, but never digital, and our photo editor refuses to work with film (believe me, I understand).

So, the current slough of photographs that I am in the process of uploading are from my first photo expedition with this new camera. I was with a friend who knew some things about the DSLR world, so he showed me a few tricks (like where the damn shutter speed setting was, which is NOT in the manual, thank you Nikon). So basically, it isn't my finest work, and I know that, but I figured I'd upload the ones I liked anyhow.

I am out of the stone age. And it is wonderful.
  • Listening to: Oxygentwentytwo
  • Reading: Mark Twain
  • Playing: Metroid: Zero Mission
  • Drinking: Heavily
DA has been behaving rather oddly the last couple of weeks. I don't know if it's just my account, or everybody's. Also, I have no idea how temporary this is.

Basically, what's been happening is this.

Every 3 - 5 days I get about 30 DeviantWatch notifications, dating from the past two weeks. If I happened to be on the previous day, I will have seen 0 deviantwatch notifications.

As it is, I get a huge load of them ever few days, about half of which I've already seen, and about half of those refuse to be deleted (I clear out my Deviations folder pretty regularly). This is made the more bothersome by the fact that I am not on this site every day, or every other day, at least not these days.

So, bottom line is this:

I have been TERRIBLE about commenting on people's art. I apologize. I normally try to comment on most of what I see, and to give everybody feedback, mostly positive. This has not been the case, and I am sorry for it, particularly to some of my older watchers.

Also, anybody who is on Flickr, I post there no longer. Not by choice, it simply doesn't let me. Some upload glitch that I cannot stand and they cannot fix. Oh, well.

Glitchy, Glitchy, Glitchy.

I'll try to be more on top of things here on DA. But DA is not exactly on top of things for me. So, apologies for massive delays on any comments that I've left / not left. Sorry everyone.
  • Listening to: John Mayall
  • Reading: Philip K. Dick (I can't put it down, Sean)
  • Watching: Frost Melting. Off the computer screen.
I have come down with a case of Sick of seeing the last journal entry on my front page. For the last several months.

Then I remembered: I can change it.

Then I remembered: It's new year's eve. Happy new year everyone! Unless of course you celebrate new year at another time. I just figured, since I'm rummaging around looking for a wall calender, that I'd wish you a happy Western-Catholic-U.S.Legal-Postsolstice new year.

So enjoy it.

Now here's the cliché bit: I'm going to share with you some things I've enjoyed about the past year. In no particular order, with no particular pattern or sense of sense. You know, the usual weirdness that spews it's way onto this page. Just looking back and figured I'd share some memories...

Some links, some music I've discovered, a couple of worthwile movies, some experiences. That kinda stuff:

1) Getting a 'real camera'

I love my Coolpix, but, really, having a camera where I can focus manually, adjust shutter speed manually, Adjusting F-Stop... it makes one feel like one knows what one's doing. Definitely had a grand old time with that.

2) Surviving a car accident

There ain't nothing like climbing 50 feet up an embankment out of the wreckage of your friend's Subaru when you're at least 20 miles away from anything resembling civilization. It's almost as great as interrupting somebody in the middle of having stoned sex to ask to borrow their phone to call a tow truck. I'm disappointed that I don't have a good scar from it.

3) Funniest Movie I have ever seen:…

It wasn't even supposed to be a comedy. It's best if you watch it with two or three people bent on making fun of it. Which makes it even better.

4) Discovering I have a favorite album from the 1960's:…

John Mayall's "The Turning Point" is pretty easy to find, in stores and on the internet (and on The Pirate Bay ;)) Anybody who enjoys jazz, blues, rock, and just outright groovy music will dig this. I have been.

5) Discovering I have a favorite album from this decade:

Artist: Charlie Hunter…
Album: Songs From The Analog Playground
Guest vocal appearances by both Mos Def and Norah Jones. I mean, come on, how many artists can have BOTH of them on the same disc. Amazing jazz music. Here's a sample. Note the amazing album cover.…
Also contains a cover of 'Spoonful' which will knock your face off.

6) Working for the school Newspaper.

I work with good people, I do good work. It makes me think I actually know what to do for a career. Which is the kinda thing that I might actually have to think about. You know, the little things in life.

7) Learning to ride a bicycle.

They say once you learn you never forget. Chelsea, I can't thank you enough. Hopefully, there aren't too many bees in New Jersey.

Sorry. Inside joke.

8) Having existential moments on the internet:

Both amazing and frightening. I know it's basically an ad for Sprint, but still, I can stare at this for hours. It really changes one's perspective...

So there! That's 8 of these, for 2008. Have a happy new year, you all!

P.S. I'm trying to return the favor given to me by a few of you and give you a feature / shout out in this journal, but I'm finding one has to spend money to do so. So... working on a way around it, but until then, sorry folks!
  • Listening to: Younger Brother
  • Reading: Tony Hillerman
  • Playing: Diablo II
I have photos dating from mid-July that I have not Uploaded. There are a lot of reasons I have not uploaded them. Some of them I am quite proud of. At some point in the very near future, I am going to have spare time enough to upload them. And when I do, there will be...




MADNESS! Glorious Madness! In any case, I apologize in advance for the day just on the horizon (more likely several days) when I release these photos upon the world (Some, I ought to mention, still need to be developed. On that note, I just remembered about  20 more that necessity forces me to scan from the film. Get your umbrellas, folks, it's time for a deluge).

Basically, I'll be uploading a few a night tonight and every night until they're up here. All of them, in all their glory. All at once.

All I want is for all of them to be all up in your face. All the time. Always.

Not really.
I really shouldn't have a Journal License.
  • Listening to: Primus
  • Reading: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
  • Eating: Whatever my Roomates Left in the fridge
I needed an excuse, any excuse, to get this tag out of my journal. Ahh... relief.

In other news, my Pentax is back out of the shop, and it now works on all speeds. Going to be taking advantage of that, and soon, just haven't worked out what to shoot. I have black and white film now as well (One of the people reading this is now rolling her eyes), so that'll be fun. Looking forward to some good photoshooting. Soon as I know what to shoot...

Also, I don't know about you, but I am SERIOUSLY diggin' this version 6. Just thought I'd say it. Seriously.

Moovin' on:
Links for your enjoyment:
High quality black and white photography...…
I want to do something like this.…
This is probably the best portraiture collection I've ever Stumbled Upon.…
Proof that somewhere, there is someone with the same sense of humor as my mom...…
I'm kind of a sucker for models like this, but I think this is SO. COOL.…
That cinches it, I'm going to Japan to play in their sewers...

And Remember kids:
Stay in school and off drugs...

See y'all next time!
  • Listening to: Deerhoof
  • Reading: All The Kings Men
  • Playing: Super Metroid
  • Drinking: Tap water.
Tagged. Again. The More fool I.

The rules are:
1. Post these rules.
2. Each person tagged must post 8 random facts about themselves
3. Tags should write a journal/ blog of these facts
4. At the end of the post 8 more persons are tagged and named
5. Go to their page and leave a comment telling them they're tagged

1. I just moved into a house with a wild pack of college students, whom I roam with now :D
2. I drum.
3. The first CD I bought with my own money was Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping.' I still listen to it.
4. I still listen to music on cassette tapes
5. I have several bumper stickers and no car...
6. I'm on the nation's 'Do Not Fly' list
7. I've traveled on 3 planes since my induction onto that list (What now, W?)
8. This will be my 24th journal.

And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for!!!


Nope. Decided to be kind this time.
Breakin' the rules, Mofoes!
please don't report me...
  • Listening to: Radiohead
  • Reading: The Magus (Still)
  • Eating: Pretzels.
1. If there was any soundtrack to a movie to describe your life what would it be, and from what movie?
'Come Together' from Across The Universe. (Living in Hippieville USA, its hard not to connect to this one :D)

2. what is your favorite 2d animated movie?
The Triplets of Belleville. (Hands. Down.)

3. second favorite?
Spirited Away

4. 3D movie?
Ratatoulle (Spelling is Close enough)

5. non cartoon movie?
City of God (Also. Hands. Down.)

6. Second fave non cartoon movie?
Little Miss Sunshine

7. Most inspiring movie you have ever seen?
Also City of God. See it, People.

8.Least fave movie
Tie: 'National Security' and 'The Golden Compass.' (Vomit going everywhere. Don't see either, please. Thank you)

9. Favorite book?
Another Tie: "The Golden Compass" and "The Magus" (Read the latter for the best Olde English reading experience you will ever have)

10. Most inspiring book?
'Confessions of an Economic Hitman' by John Perkins. (True story. Superdepressing, but worth it)

11. A book you cried in?
"A Clash of Kings" by George RR Martin (The last two sentences made me cry tears of pure joy)

12. least favorite book?
There was one that was so bad I have forgotten it's title and author.

13. Favorite song?
Dave Van Ronk's cover of 'Urge for Going' by Joni Mitchell

14. Song you cry in?
See above. (Not really, but darn close. 'Heart Attack in a Layby' by Porcupine Tree has the same effect)

15. least favorite song/artist
Thrice. Apparently quite popular, but I can't stand them.

16. A childhood song you remember.
I'll be on my Way - Beatles (I found it on a cassette tape in my parents' garage the other week and my heart had an orgasm)

17. Worst assosiated song?
Van Morrison - 'These Dreams of You' (The man makes me dyslexic, I swear! You really don't want to know what happened.)

18. best assosiated song?
Grab a Fork Micron - The Coma Lilies (Awesome Things Happen when it plays, without fail)

19. I shall tag!
:iconallthearts: :iconlimewine: :iconleethaxoor: nobody else still visits. Sorry guys, I don't make the rules, Just follow them. relentlessly.
  • Listening to: Rush
  • Reading: The Magus
  • Playing: Earthworm Jim
  • Drinking: Tea. Green tea.
After an epic month and a half of waiting...

Not the Nikon Coolpix 2500, mind you. I take too many pictures with that one. No.

This one belonged to my mom, and was broken before I was born.

It is a Pentax H1 Heiland camera. Made circa 1970. It is an SLR camera, meaning I now have full and total control over:

Shutter Speed
Depth of Field
Color vs. Black and White

I also have two lenses for it. One of which has some pretty cool filters. Namely a polarizer. That's going to be great once I get into the mountains again. Oh, yeah!

Odds are that I'll be posting mostly things I take with that camera from now on. No offense to the Coolpix, but this higher quality machine is not to be ignored. I'll make a point of including information like shutter speed and aperture in the comments (when I write them down). So, be prepared for some good new stuff!

Also, at the urging of a friend, I have set up an account at Flickr:…
Anyone interested can visit me there. For the moment, they seem to be much less glitchy than DA. However, I won't upload anything there that I don't here. For the time being, the Flickr account will be exclusively for pictures I take with the Pentax. Just because.

That's all for the night.
Have a good night, everyone.
And remember:…
Just say no to drugs. Even funny ones
  • Listening to: Battles
  • Reading: A Storm Of Swords
  • Playing: Around With Ideas
Character in a dream of mine:

There was a man, he looked quite normal, but his head was that of a rabbit. A white rabbit, complete with long floppy ears. He was dressed in a somewhat fancy brown suit, with loafers on, and a dark steel ring on the middle finger of each hand.

He couldn't speak, when he was a rabbit, like he was, but he had this mask that he kept in the inside pocket of his coat. It was a rubber mask, nothing complicated, but it was a human's face. When he held the mask out, it looked life flexible rubber, but when he put the mask on, it was able to fit the contours of his face, and it fit over his ears and everything. When it was on, it was as if he had a human head.

And when he wore the mask, he was capable of terrible things.

With the mask he was able to talk, but he was only able to tell lies and to yell curse words. He had two pistols in his coat, that clearly weren't there when he was a rabbit, but which he used expertly as a human. He would go on these rampages: he would hold up a car, force the occupants from it, and drive off with one arm out the window firing wild shots. He'd go hold up a bank for money, then use the money to buy his way into mob businesses and murder people in the mob and their associates. At the end of all this, he would put the two pistols back in his coat, then remove the human mask, revealing his full rabbit head, then look sadly over the scene he left, then walk away.

He'd go on these rampages with a very specific target in mind, whom he would kill along with anybody who tried to stop him. He had no regard for anybody who got in his way, but afterwards, he became the rabbit, who seemed to know nothing of what had happened.

It was always mob and mafia leaders he was after. He had aims of doing good by committing these murders. But he would just stand by and watch other criminals. Cars would be stolen before his eyes, and he'd just watch, his rabbit face expressionless. It wasn't until he put on his human mask before he became truly dangerous.

My brain is probably out to kill me.

Whatever. I'm going to do something with this character. Something artistic, that is. Trouble is, I don't know what. Photography isn't a medium that suits a fictitious character. Hmm.... I'll Write a story. Maybe. Or do some kind of comic book style project. Maybe even an animated project if I can find some people who know what they're doing who want to help...

Probably not, though. That sounds a bit intense...

But mark my words: Rabbit-Man is going to surface in SOME FORM on this page. Be prepared!


Well, now, how about some random links for your enjoyment:…
I find this hilarious. Also a great shot!
Just in case you have need of trivial information. Just in case…
Billy Collins. One of my heroes in the world of poetry. The first one up is one of my all time favorites!…
Interesting flash project. Rather fun for about an hour. If you're like me, that is: easily amused.
Great Photo series. Some really incredible shots in here!

Catch you all later!
  • Listening to: Bill Frisell
  • Reading: The Rule Of Four
  • Playing: Escape
  • Eating: Courtesy Mints
  • Drinking: Water
Tears run in rivers down sad child's cheeks
Washing and weathering away the good times;
The times of 'fetch' and 'sit' and 'stay'
The time he chased a 'coon across the yard only to come barreling back,
And all the tennis balls
and all the places they landed
Washed away like so much dirt and sand;
washing away with drops of tears
And scrapes of a shovel overturning the earth
as chunks and clods fall to the side of a pit
A pit as good as six feet deep,
Into which the old dog is laid
And finds its timely welcome to this place;
This place where roots and earthworms live
and make their hollow tunnels
In and around this new entity
The flesh dissolves as the soil's creatures do their work
And new soil appears, as if by magic
Fertile and fresh
A crimson map of canine anatomy
that the roots, like curious medical students,
have made from their brand new cadaver
and made what they have from its eroding markings
Of the dog's old organs, now useless,
Making new organs of tubers
developing from pockets of decayed flesh
In darkness they grow
Becoming anchors for tall green stems
In a world of sunlight, which the skeleton below
Saw only through long dissolved eyes
in sockets now swimming with useful roots
Until, at last, their use exhausts
And are pulled up by a tired child's hands
out of the fertile soil
into an airy host of dying sunlight
journeying toward the child's home atop a crammed basket
and soaked in boiling water until the skin dissolves
and mixed with a host of liquids and spices, and poured into a bowl
As soup
Which the hungry child eats
as her father jokes about how their dog became a vegetable.


I wrote this ages ago and never submitted it.
I was waiting for a good time to do so;
a time when I was in the same mood
as the mood I wrote it in...

I can't describe this mood
and it certainly isn't in the 'mood' menu
so I put a zombie there
It seemed appropriate

They should have a write in space for the moods
That list is extremely incomplete
This is a mood I would need to write in
It would either Duphysical, Mozcophin, Sitizkin...
Maybe Bob
Bob's a good name

Good night, everyone.
  • Listening to: Ozric Tentacles
  • Reading: H.P. Lovecraft
  • Watching: Dew Creep Up the Window
  • Playing: With Fate
One day, there was a painter who felt he had run out of inspiration. No matter what he did, he could not feel the urge to take up his brugh and paint again. It had been months since he had made a good painting. Despairing, he went on a walk to clear his head.

On his walk, he came to a forest. As he entered it, he breathed in the fresh air, and let it relieve him of some of his worry. He continued through the forest, and came to a hill. As he climbed it, he could see the trees thinning, until at last, he came to a rocky cliff, barren of trees, facing west.

Here, he beheld a sunset unlike any he had ever seen. The sky blazed with tones of orange and red, clouds lit up bright yellows with pink shadows. In the corners of the sky were swimming with shades of green and blue. On the horizon lay great, majestic mountains capped with snow. The painter stood aghast, for this was the inspiration he had been seeking. Without another thought in his head, he sprinted down the hill.

He stumbled over roots in his haste, falling and rising again in his rush to get to his studio. He burst into the room, and frantically grabbed his canvas, his easal, some brushes, and as much paint as he could carry. He rushed from the room in a panic, noticing that the sky was darkening. The thought crossed him as he ran back through the forest that his sunset would soon be gone. "No" he said aloud, "I will not let it vanish." But even as he ascended the hill, something in his heart told him it was too late.

When he reached the cliff, the sun was gone. The sky was nearly black, and you could no longer see the white showy caps of the mountains. The vibrant colors that had radiated from the sky mere hours ago were gone, and in their place were inky blues. The painter broke down in despair and began to sob, there on the mountain.

His weeping ceased when he noticed a curious, pale light. He stood, and looked around for its source. He saw almost at once that the moon had risen, bathing the world in its pale, supernatural glow. The painter gathered his supplies and began to walk away...

But then something caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks, and turned to look. There, embedded in the rock by his feet were a myriad of crystals of various kinds that were reflecting the moonlight. They sparkled with such a ferocity that the painter was taken aback. He resumed his walk.

But his attention was again diverted, this time by the silohouette of a tree against the moonlight. How it stood out! And the shadow! The painter's sorrowful mood lifted as he continued to notice things; the trees, the stars, the mountains in the distance. Elated, the painter began down the trail to return to his studio, enjoying his new found enrapturement with the night. He was inspired again, and this feeling kept him going down the trail.

They found his body the next morning. He was killed by a werewolf.

The moral of the story: Never look for inspiration on a full moon.

(This story emerged from nowhere, and probably should have gone back there. Too bad I have a knack for remembering these kind of things)