rigadoon

Finally got a second to sit at the computer. So much shits been going on, I'm surprised I've still got my head resting atop my shoulders. I'm not really in the mood to go into the stupid little details of my life right now, surprising, considering I'm actually sober at the moment and should be taking advantage of this time to reflect, but, despite that knowledge, I'm still not in the mood. Here's something I wrote back in June that kind of sums up the last few months of my life (and most likely the next few to follow).

"Our bellies are empty n' talkin shit,
too much time away from home,
pretending to be content with bruises and bandaged feet.
Our palms are raw and pink;
been draggin ourselves home across piss-flavored cobblestones,
keepin our eyes closed tonight.
Our feet are black and complaining about the shoes we left behind in the bathroom of the bar-
(they're finicky, though... before we took them off, they complained of needing air).
Our bellies are growing,
the skin stretched tight,
like a drum.
We beg men to play songs from our hunger,
"a slow and aching beat,"
a song to help us cry.
Our tears drowned this city once before and damn, did it feel good to let it all out."


Nuff said. Here's some pictures from the day I got arrested for trespassing in New Orleans. Fun...



At a float graveyard in New Orleans.



On our way to the Westbank, random comfy couch which I ultimately caused to deflate entirely.



At the Katrina-stricken, abandoned Six Flags which you are MOST DEFINITELY NOT allowed to trespass on. I entitled this one, "He couldn't hold his hurricane."

All photos taken by Craig Morse.