a few hours of rain, my back porch, new orleans.

9 inches later, lots of little froggies came out. they were cute, but no pics b/c they are fast moving little fuckers.

danke schoen and madam s, the cooks house, new orleans.

edit: I'm such a fucking amateur.

bayou boogaloo 2010, bayou st. john, new orleans.

snaps, camp zoe, missouri.

snaps' notes in my moleskin, verbatim -
"ghetto sexual, cliff, freakadelic, whispers of molly and mushrooms on a rocky path, sandfly slaves, learning to alliterate, aborted fungus among us, lesbionist, war wounds, river shoes, bad techno, get nasty, taxi rides, waving leaves, stellar noise, meditating with buddah, glowsticks, barbra steisand and superman, mining hats, glamour hippie circles, frunchy, tangible porn, bleeding eyes, 4 wheelers, dreadlocks, butter flies nomad bruno, green balls with sticky milk."

my empty shoes standing eerily by themselves, choates house, new orleans.

dead ghost ascending, choates house, new orleans.










live ghost ascending, choates house, new orleans.

choates house arrest anklet, choates house, new orleans.

I guess it should go without saying that if I'm taking a picture of this niggas house arrest anklet, I couldn't be anywhere but his house.

house arrest blows.

cicada exoskeleton, my back porch, new orleans.

how does all of this death follow me?

dead cicada with water droplets, my back porch, new orleans.

cicada being eaten by red ants, neeners driveway, new orleans.

getting dizzy, warehouse squat on elysian fields avenue, new orleans.

son, decatur street, new orleans,

muse, lee circle, new orleans.

muse, governor nicholls wharf, new orleans.

I don't ever think of you anymore, but I still fucking loathe you. the same backwards as you are forwards, inside and out - nothing but ugly guts and breathy lies.

get bent, palindrome.

pbr and gutterpunk with a goatee tattoo, decatur street, new orleans.

maek. I wonder whatever happened to you and those eyes.

"I want to go somewhere with you."

3 megapixels of silhouette kickassery.

wooo, I can upload pictures from my cellphone. now I really won't have a life!

protector, 9th ward, new orleans.

bridge dwellers, calliope avenue, new orleans.

kind of infatuated but only sometimes, danke schoen @ the cooks house, new orleans.

one of the most beautiful singers and guitar players that have ever graced the soundwaves to my eardrums.

"roses are red, daises are yellow and flowers are dead..."


I just texted him asking what he was doing on wednesday night. he's back in indy, back to his origins, back to his roots.

it's only fitting that this picture shows your back. goodbye, danke schoen.

* "do you have plans wednesday or is that a silly question? I'd really like to see you."

"Im back in indiana 4 good"

"that is depressing, but I'll see you one day. don't forget about me. <3."

"Why. So you can lead me on and stand me up? How would i ever see you anyways. Im not goin back there."

it's what I do best.

tinctures, the cooks house, new orleans.

two go-rounds on the merry-go-round, abandoned school on sister street, new orleans.

maniacal, abandoned school on sister street, new orleans.



his pants really are that red.

fuck yeah.

popples and one eye, median park on melpomene, new orleans.

let's be friends, flash.

a man, his motorcycle, and his typewriter.

meandering down frenchman street one night - looking down @ this half sheet of now dirty, crumpled printer paper apparently the night of june 19th, 2010 -
I came upon a poet.

I slowed my already lethargic steps and tilted my head @ this curiousity. this kid had parked up his bike in front of the blue nile, set up his tv dinner tray, lugged out his typewriter, and was selling stanzas by the line. he had two comrades with him, a languished looking man of about 35, clearly disinterested in his typewriter because of his obvious inebriation, and a young lady who seemed to have a severe case of writer's ... dead. her fingers were still, her hair was still, her everything was so unmoving. but this guy, he was deliberate in all of his strokes. it didn't look like he was putting any forethought or afterthought into any of his strikes on the keys, he was only thinking just then, in that fraction of a second as he thought of the most glorious word to come next.

poetry is an empty outlet of literature, in my most humble, having-poetry-of-my-own-published opinion. I would prefer to have things said simply, and unless it's about my fucking surprise party, I don't want to have mysteries to be analyzed. I don't have the will. trying to figure out the human species as a whole is easy. statistics, population, control groups. figuring out a person - an individual, a single cell - it's a macro fucking nightmare. you can say beautiful things without needing to say them in veiled, metaphorical terms. what's the point in speaking if no ones going to understand you?


but this guy seemed good.

I was broke. I had nothing but coin money in my wallet. I approached his table, opened my wallet upside down, and let all the metal I had fall from it, giving him not only my change but a king-cake baby and a safety pin.

"can I get a haiku for this?"


'quarter'

waning
quartermoon:
small change

- allen andre
nola
6/19/10

vivid, her house, new orleans.


I feel you.

river @ 1am along the st. claude drawbridge, new orleans.

I want to go back to that feeling.

to touch...

abandoned warehouse, terry parkway, new orleans.

muse, governor nicholls wharf, new orleans.

I don't want to do 'this'.

lol, I can't even get my website up.

'this'.

what the fuck is this?

I have been reduced to this.

dragonfly, the dog park, new orleans.

how mundane.


lizard with skin flake, my back porch, new orleans.

to be short - I never wanted it to happen this way. I thought it would pan out, spread evenly, and taste delicious. instead it formed into hideous little mounds of self loathing and dried with a crust of sour intentions.


like, really. how the fuck am I supposed to fix this?

abandoned warehouse, terry parkway, new orleans.

I haven't done this in too long.


popples, the dog park, new orleans.