Like priestly imprisoned poets,
the poplars of blood have fallen asleep.
Johnny Horton “Whispering Pines”
Johnny Horton – Whispering Pines
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Fire Red Tricycle
Jessica in my backyard on a rare hot August day in San Francisco. Photography by Oliver Maxwell Kupper.
Automatic Lover
Was just exposed to a world I’ve never known. Planets sane men have never traveled to. A place too dark and too bright – too neon to experience the reality most men know. A great white ghost of nostalgia covers you like an obscene scepter.
Sympathy
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Loaded in Las Vegas
Coffee table in the hotel room: scenes of extreme violence and erotic misery from Las Vegas.
