explico_photography

I travel again in the morning. Here there everywhere. I just really want to be at home. And yet home often does not feel like home because I know soon I will have to travel again. I was going across the net just looking at work... CONSTANCY BREEDS BOREDOM an agent once told me “you do to much you need to do one thing and stick with it”. God that would be so boring that same guy sat and talked to me for hours about my bondage pictures I think the dude had wood. It was kind of odd I guess I should take it as a compliment.

You know it is funny the whole artist trip, man more than anything I just want to feel everything is going to be ok. My rent, the people I love, my cat, my dog, that my car works and all the other normal shit in life. Fuck and then you get your head filled with what other people say about you pumping you up making you head all big. But in the end all I really want are those things. I want to feel good, and safe. I have felt good often I someone very great in my life, also I take drugs that helps not really ashamed or proud it is just a fact, but I don’t drink anymore to much after I got GHB’ed in a bar in Hollywood while I should have been at my girlfriends birthday party, fuck what a mess that was. I have really eased off the old booze I was a real lush. Bukouski is one of my hero’s so when your hero is a drunk well your starting pretty low... What can ya do.

Shooting makes me happy. It is odd at many shoots I am a bit uptight not really sure what to think I just want to get done with it, but some people I work with it is just pure magic. Something clicks and we are just able to make something amazing... Those moments I love and it makes much of the bullshit worth it.

Often I stand fanning the pointless fires of my own anxiety. I know I make me what I am and yet I can’t stop. Addicted, addicted to drugs, addicted to sex, addicted to love addicted to being addicted. A life of starts and stops, endlessly looking yet never really finding what I need, but always finding a good story. I am told that I am the worst story teller. That I tell my life wrong. I would have more friends if I told my stories better. I am not always sure if I want any more friends or to really tell my stories. I like to write them I don’t like to talk about them. Not really sure why... Perhaps late at night falling asleep I like to recount the events that have formed me... All those new notched on the great bed post of life that drive me one more step to the end of my rope. On the page I have can say the most personal things. Everyone who knows and cares about me reads what I write, but in words out of my mouth it just not work. I guess you can pour your heart out to the girl sitting on the bar stool next to but it is so hard to pour your heart out to those you love. The girl on the bar stool you risk nothing, the people you love you risk everything. Showing the real you how if you never really have been real. Real as in I am not sure if I have ever lived in the real world I have always lived in my world. Is there any other? Is there a collective world one where we all live? Or is it just my world?

It rains, well it pours in sheets ... The drive into the little village was quiet. We make it everyday my driver is blind as a bat one day soon he will kill us if we are lucky. We just sit counting our money as time flies away. Counting money driving through villages of the hungry and poor. They spend theirs of food, much of mine has been spent on a young Mexican stripper, booze, and drugs. They feed their bellies. I feed my demons.

The van stops. I am at my small jungle hotel. Tip Top for around here. A motel six would like like the Ritz. The van door slides open. I smell the fresh rain. Now I just sit and look out my door as the rain falls. Once again washing the earth clean. A sick dyeing dog comes up to me I feel bad for it... They call him scraps... when we are done and leave I bet the locals call him dinner. I push it away afraid to get what ever jungle sickness it has... Fuck I am tiered, it is the heat most of all I do nothing other than sit and take in the heat, bugs, and rain 14 hours a day. My mind has become numb to it all I spend a great deal of time in my own head just imaging... I just sit under my hood and listen to the rain pound on it watching the pit vipers come flying out of their holes trying not drown. These days I fear nothing deadly snakes are the least of my worries. I think about things from home. Home it is such a distant idea, so many things you take for granted everyday of your life. It is crazy here I am alone... As alone as you can get I have stopped my endless nights of parting after I broke my hand or should I say shattered it... My x-ray looked like broken glass.... My hand turned black, green, and blue I did not want to think about it I just lived on heavy pain killers not so much trying to numb my hand but trying to numb my soul to all of the endless madness around me. I have not seen my Mexican Stripper Girlfriend in 6 weeks, she asks about me to my friends. I am not sure what to say it make me to depressed to even deal with that aspect of life down here... I wish I did not care about people... I wish I did not care about her. I wish I could just go places and have fun, but it does not work that way for me. So now I just sit in my room thinking, drinking Absinth and swallowing percodans. Fuck what a life. All this and a check every week. Well, the sun breaks through the clouds. Soon it will be hot again.

Am I beautiful behind my mask. I am not sure. I feel I have had this suit of armor on my entire life and it has just been pounded on. I have always felt that if I removed this armor that I would just be broken scared and old on the inside. So in many ways this mask over my face is the way I look under my mask. That mask I put on everyday to face the world. It is so post modern of me a mask to look like my true self... Fuck I am a joke. I am no longer at home, or in some fancy hotel in some great place, no I am at my Mothers House... A small town in the Pacific North West. I am loosing my mind a bit in this place. No ones fault but my own. My mother is very kind perhaps to kind. Always trying to find the good in people even the worst people. Me I am well ancored in hate... That is a lie I don’t hate anyone in fact I bet I am like my mother always trying to find the good even in the worst. And it has done me about as much good as it has done her. I have no more masks. The only more real I can get, “closer to my true self.” is to pull the skin off my face to my skull. Don’t think I have notthought about it. I think with the propper narcotics I might be able to pull it off, just so I could take a picture of the real me. In Mexico once I got a gas mask from a fire man who died I took naked pictures of myself with the mask. It was strange I was on a great many drugs at the time. I did not feel sexy... I don’t really remeber what i felt other than cold. And then I started to think about the mans last breaths in this mask as his air ran out. I pulled it off in a bit of a bad trip... My face all sweaty from being in the mask, and my body cold. Then I took many more drugs until I could not really lift my hands to take anymore.

Kitty. Kitty bang bang we love you... Yep another day of loosing my mind. I was offered a bit of a pimp spot. You find me girls for our fills... This is what they tell me. Do I really have any feelings about anything no. I feel my rent is going to be 3500.00 soon, I feel the price of gas like a hot poker in my eye. I want everything clean, people to be nice... No one ever is. It is always dirty that is were the money is. Art is clean and pure, until the money. The money is the after birth of idea and creation. It is what spills out to be eaten by the vultures. I soon head up north some shooting, and some time to get my head right. I wish I had got many other things one. I wanted to get more parts up and running on this website. Oh well will have to wait until I get back...

Nothing can hold my mind down for less than about an hour. Really the only thing I can do to keep myself out of my head is work and write these dumb ass blogs. I sat all day working out web pages lining up credit card companies, dealing with the backbone of everything. I talked to a really smoking hot girl who "wants to Be a Star" my kind of person. Not so much in that pervy kind of way I to want to be a star. I want people to love me and go to my golden bathroom and wipe my ass with 100$ bills. What will I do to get to that place. She made it quite clear what she would do. My cat is angery at me. I watched the TV show the Tudurs it bothered me for strange family reasons that I wish not go into... But it bothered me. I could only watch about 30 min. Lost focus. Then about 30 of the God of War. I love that film. I get him I understand the sort of person he is. What is right and wrong? Fuck I am loosing my mind again tonight.