Thursday, July 29, 2010

Ah, kids these days.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Sorry i can show you any real pictures for the story. It would loose it's street cred before it was even born. how sad that would be. we might just get stuck here and drown in a flood that would
be nice and ironic perhaps some one would find all the little pieces and put them back together or try not knowing the pieces were never meant to go together. i could only......suggesting to large crowds of sclors and novelists that there were missing pieces and a grand hunt would sweep the world eager minds researching and hunting for the missing pieces of something that never was. Rebirth it would be grand hope fully, someone would figure it out and never say a word, they would see the...... in mystery the cerous mind is an inventive one and a relentless one.

just get it done never mind
reed blab'er farting around
and the 5 armed detectives
who mind you were very chill
none the less

the end is close but the finish line is farther away.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

In the back of a house on a slab where a house
was at one time pounded in to the sand dropped
tossed flung hurled placed lied Begin to grow
collected obscure items some where
thats no where because they have no place to be
except where they are at that moment.

Monday, July 19, 2010

some behind the seines photos

the mayor

me passed out with jimmy and tippy

just the facts

The worst idea ever yep we did it

hunting for trash i mean truth

he was wearing a white t shirt and converse

by god i have it

reed at he brink of disaster as per usual

were gona ride i like a pony

so you are using front impellers?
no, no ammonia in your cooling solution?

Sunday, July 18, 2010

This is My Brooklyn.

Something I imagine a post-apocalyptic society might look like, so I'm well prepared.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Highways the man's navigation power line, in to the belly
of the storm, on the path the right direction
the red thread, a tangled mess hypithical,
in the air 3200 feet above sea level traveling
at 500 mph. Fact 30 feet thick and mile wide, deep
below unseen disaster wright in front of your eyes

it's not them it's us, all of us running gasping
for air with flabby skin and glazed over eyes
moth pigs getting force fed prepackaged life till our intestine burst
ready to help stitching the bloody pus mess back in to working
consumption order.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I become my surroundings as they become me. Nothing
is for ever, but like a star in the far reaches
of the galaxy memory will shine on long after i am gone,
for the future to see un till the last of me fades in to
the indiscernible tones and waves of energy scattering
through out daily life, a whisper in the wind a glint in a
eye the caw of a crow.
and in this we i will live for ever but never stop

On the road between mobile & bayou le batre the
highway is packed there are accidents
all most every day trucks and cars flipped over
contents scattered across the tarmac, recklessness
permeates the air, armadillos and dog carcasses left
to there long decomposition in the scorching
sun. lost my intreats in this rant

empty fishing pears and a long stretch of bridge

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I try to ride my bike as often as possible, but certain circumstances call for the subway. Somedays I spend entire days underground. Waiting. Transfers. More waiting. Delays. Pushy people, slow walkers, complete stoppers, beggars, crazies, hoods, suits, religious talkers. The smell of urine, fish, trash. An old man stares at me. A gay man eye-fucks me. Loud school kids giggle, complain, gossip. Lovers embrace, kiss non-stop. Babies cry. A man reads the newspaper his neighbor holds. Bad music issues loudly from headphones. Faces hide behind smartphones, books, games. A fat man yells about how women ain't no good. Nobody cares.

Five o'clock— Penn Station: madhouse. 34th Street: tourist infestation. Walking up and down the same stairs all day. Losing metrocards. Standing on a platform, pacing and hot. A twenty minute wait. The train is full, every single car. One giant people sandwich. Faces angry, bored, stressed, tired, sad, fidgety. It's a lovely summer day yet there is profound silence beneath the ground, where the only sound uttered is from the trains themselves.

Then a group of three young Jamaican men play a tune for the car on a set of congas. It is a solid groove, passionately committed. People smile again. They tap their feet. Applaud, drop money into a hat. Soon, the smiles fade. Back to home, back to sleep.

My bicycle beckons.

Monday, July 12, 2010

From the archives. Mike steams a shirt all sexy like.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

another great adventure with delta.

form the road side of I 10, junk left behind by
locals swimming in a murky river attempting
to escape the heat

A violent rain storm from the hotel balcony lasting 20
min before the sun returned

reed in full swing 8:30 am

me in full swing 2:30 am

Family vacation








Monday, July 05, 2010

4 of july boats and fire-works firing up the BBQ a real beer kiss ash tray night wet grass salfer fog on a clam lake, C train to disaster town rain storms of uselessness.

Or yo could just make some pictures and some one smile.

I am the King of the swingers, the jungle VIP

God are you listen