Harvest

People will often confuse my kindness for weakness, and take my warm interest in them for granted. Occasionally, after my patience has blistered into malcontent, I’ll eviscerate them with an unapologetic chill.

I’ve always found that respect is reaped out of distance and apathy–a rebalancing of the scales that reminds them that my presence in their life is indeed a gift.

Swans and Swines

I have two beasts roaming inside me. One is connected to the earth–sensual, empathetic, loving. And the other? He’s primal, unpredictable, and conceals cruelty as his switchblade.

I vacillate between the two–between making love, and brute fucking; caressing, and shoving my fingers down accepting mouths; between caring for my elderly grandmother, and driving to your place after she’s gone to bed, and your boyfriend’s out of town.

I don’t feel any psychological dissonance, or guilt. Maybe I’m just a sociopath, or perhaps, an honest saint that struggles with his human nature.

In a Blink of an Eye

Working with models is always a little slippery. Inevitably, they’ll bring with them expectations for the outcome of a shoot that almost never coaligns with my creative desires. Most of the time, they're looking for a beautiful and flattering image, but what I'm looking to capture is something more interesting, something visually arresting. What good is a photograph if it doesn't compel the viewer to to look at it, and resists being forgotten?

For instance, occasionally I'll "accidentally" press the shutter as they're blinking–this is actually a lot harder to time than you'd think. Try doing that with another person without saying a word–it's tough.

A regular black and white portrait turns into a shifting moment of quiet delirium.

Methods for Demonic Extraction: A Urinary Approach

10:32 am: I got up, made My bed, and inspected the foul container pervading the air in My shadow lair–it was ready.

Over the past 2 weeks, I’d been fermenting a batch of urine. There was a demoness residing in a particular camellia flower in My gardens, and this was unacceptable. After consulting with a slew of elders, I learned about an ancient method the Dragn gnostics would use for such matters of exorcism.

Although I wasn’t a zealot of the Church, desperate times called for desperate measures. I was experiencing a demon infestation in My life that was driving Me to the brink of insanity–they were like baby roaches that would come out during the night, and The Most High was My insecticide.

Closer

I haven't been shooting or writing as much as I'd like lately, or making anything of creative worth really. If you want to know the truth, I've been cleaning, deep cleaning. I started with my bedroom a few weeks ago, afterall, your living space is an extension of you–messy room, messy life. So, I've committed myself to straightening out both, and that impulse has spread to my bathroom. Mold, mildew, and grime have been the evil dwarfs pissing on my leg, and I’m bent on scorning them with a sadistic malcontent–so far I've been successful.

Contrary to what inaccurate and distorted impressions about me I may bait people to suck on, I value structure, discipline, and a work ethic that keeps me hostile toward mediocrity. The more disorder I've compelled into submission, the closer I feel toward breaking through. Through what exactly, I don't know yet, but I'm close–I can feel it.

Reminder to Self

Some people, no doubt, are born, and destined, to be common, to live out their lives to no significant purpose, but that is relatively rare...Most people have the power to be creative, and some have it in a god-like degree...But many people–perhaps even most–are content with the passing pleasures and satisfactions of the animal side of our nature. Indeed, many people will account their lives to be successful if they get through them with only minimal pain, with pleasant divergence from moment to moment and day-to-day, and the general approval of those around them. And this, notwithstanding that they often have within them the ability to do something which perhaps no other human being has ever done. Merely to do what others have done is often safe, and comfortable; but to do something truly original, and do it well, whether it is appreciated by others or not–that is what being human is really all about, and it is alone what justifies the self-love that is pride.
— Richard Taylor, Restoring Pride

Aranea Flos

My Favorite Photographs

My favorite photographs are ones that have an element of quiet violence–ones that aren’t thrusted upon your face (those are too obvious), but that rest easily within the boundaries of the frame, with brazen guile.

We’re all domesticated savages acting on this grand stage with a modicum of decency and propriety, but under the hot lights, within us exists the sinister desire to conquer others, to exert our will over circumstances. The thirst for power, not the quench of love, surges through our veins, and that instinct prevails.