Anyway this picture has been in my pictures to be posted directory awhile and I don't feel like waiting anymore for the right context so here. It's the only one taken of me at Burning Man despite about twenty five thousand pocket digital cameras going off constantly. I made the necklaces out of .223 brass I'd been saving since my amateur survivalist militia days in the early 1980s. I finally found a better use for them.
12 comments:
Dusty is sexy. Except on the white furniture.
Great photo!
Does make me want a HUGE glass of ice water, though.
love the bullets. Burning Man looks like a contact lens wearers worst nightmare.
Except for the shades,you look like a subaltern in the Long Range Desert Group, along about 1941, somewhere south of Cyrenaica. Did you have your converted Chevy truck w/Lewis Gun attached parked nearby under khaki netting?
I guess the Eagle Division finally was good for something. Heheh.
I suppose that might look tame by Burning Man standards, but if I answered a knock on my front door and saw this, I would probably scream.
Jode, dust doesn't SHOW on the white furniture. Except when you sit down and it billows all around.
S-Babe, water is a must there. We never drink enough and we suffer for it.
Jane, I wouldn't know but I don't see a lot of ugly I-usually-wear-contacts-and-these-are-my-only-glasses glasses so maybe not.
Harry ol' fiend, the Krauts bombed our petrol dump and so it was a rough three weeks having nothing to do but make contact with the locals, eh heh.
Roy, just deploy your thousand-yard stare and all Burners will back away nervously and at arm's length offer you a shot of absinthe, hoping you'll decline.
Good God, Roy! You're wearing a tie?
Something incongruous there.
fierce! well, kinda... [wink]
you look ...a ..... hot. mmmm
Good God, Roy! You're wearing a tie?
Something incongruous there.
Let me explain. It all started when I became unemployed. I thought I would supply a small picture of myself on my resume (pronounced: re-zoom in Kansas City) so I put the coat and tie on and took some pics of myself in the bathroom mirror. I took a whole bunch, many of which were kind of unintentionally humorous. One of them turned out to be my front shot for Mafia movie auditions (nothing has materialized on that front yet.) I still don't have a job, but don't particularly care, as the more time passes and the farther I get from my last job the less likely I am to re-enter the steaming pile of bullshit that is the corporate American workplace. Anyway, rest assured, in my mind, at least, I am wearing jeans and t-shirt, standing on the corner of Lincoln st. and Pacific Ave. in SC, playing Little Martha on my '62 Gibson while a small yellow cur dog urinates on my guitar case.
Why do we always go back? I wander the streets of 1977 Berkeley a lot, only actually saying hello to the girls who recognize me from high school and not merely ducking my head and quickly walking away.
What a douche...
It is envy and fear that renders you anonymous.
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