I'm here. Found it. The rim of civilization. Note that I'm seated on the ledge of some sort of concrete slab, against a lowered steel-shutter. Were I to open the shutter, you'd see a bustling street scene, rife with motor vehicles, hurried pedestrians, street vendors, and a cacophony of honks, jackhammers, and other various citysounds. But if I was a Planeteer, my ring's power would be JUXTAPOSE since I also am down with the more organic side of things. At my feet lies a sediment of leaves (way dead, natch), indicating the expanse of forest that lies just out of frame...I swear. But right now, it's just me and my guitar--propped awkwardly against the shutter. I'll let it decide which side I wind up on.
The Self-Aware Shetbag:
Every morning, after a routine headdip in my hair gel cauldron, I up and head on down to my local foundry for some busking. Boy, do those workers hate me! I usually take a break at 10 to work the opening shift at PacSun, but then it's back to the steel stairs for some more busking. Hopefully that guy Bruno won't invite me back to his place again, either. When I asked if he had a hot tip for me, I meant about getting a gig!!
The Crumbling Environment Shot Guy
Now I know what you're thinking, and the answer is no, there are not actually two of me. This is what people in the biz call a 'composite photo'. See, the pic on the left was taken out back of the 7/11 on Escondito Drive, during my shift on Wednesday. Thankfully Mr. Hajib was in the back filing or something, so I could snuck out back without anyone noticing. For the other one I just hopped out of my cousin's Prelude and stood in front of some poor person's house cause I thought it looked all run down and shit. The dude who lived there actually came out and yelled at me in Spanish or something. We got outta there hella quick!
The Mullet of Destiny
Evenin', ladies. I had my nephew take this picture with his Google Phone or whatever it is. I didn't care how it looked really, just had one requirement: The Kentucky Waterfall must be flowin' majestic as as a damn eagle. And set against the the wall of my apartment bathroom, I gotta say it looks good as sin. Anyway, I'll be playin' at the Airport Inn bar from 5:30-6:00 PM this Thursday. C'mon down and bring your sisters, too. Plenty ta' go round.
Corduroy jacket? Check. Scarf? Check. Thrift store t-shirt? Check. Driver's cap? Check. Holding random item that may or may not contextually relate to my music? Check. Well-maintained stubble? Check. Indifferent but wary countenance? Check and mate.
The Tortured Artiste
The Tortured Artiste
Oh, I'm sorry...I suppose you are trying to photograph me. Go ahead then, if you must. Forgive me if I struggle to find the wherewithal to summon my interest. I'd rather be wistful and morose. That is, after all, why I wandered over to this time-worn barn...only after I'd finished my ring-pop, of course (forgive my lips' crimson hue!) But alas, not unlike the hard-candied treat, my time on Earth continues to dwindle, and the breezes will continue to lash this poor barn. So snap away, good sir, far be it from me to impede your artistic endeavors. (gazes off into the distance)