Blog September 2009
Be
advised; I am a atrocious
speller and
for this I apologies, but I am also to old to really care, or try to
learn
how to be better. I rely on spell check and friends to proof my
spelling, If you find something smile let me know, I'll be smiling when
I hear it. Thanks
dan.
Click On Photographs To See A Larger Size!
Click On Photographs To See A Larger Size!
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Dan;
say it & I'll post it!
The safari was nice,
 The views were great
  
Because
of the grand response of the shapely cleavage shoot from my last post I
am adding more to please or dis-please the viewers!
 dba
photo
Born Of LoveIf you love, I mean really love with the purity that it deserves and requires, then you can never stop this magical emotion. When love enters your heart and perforates your soul, it is there past eternity. We can alter it, hide it, contort it, but the core of love withstands all manipulation and lasts beyond forever. Love can hurt, and this is why it is converted – or even bastardized – into hate solely as self-preservation for controlling the pain of a breaking heart. Love has the passion and heat of molten lava. When it is inside, it's burning hot with passion; indeed, every emotion is boiling and full of energy. If it erupts, the passion can turn to destruction uncaring about what harm may unfold in its path. Devastation is its only concern. Then, as time passes, the molten lava moves slower and slows down to nothing. As the lava cools, it stops, conformed to something completely opposite of what it was. When the lava stops and its end comes, it's cold and lifeless, but the center core is still born of love. – dba  dba
photo
There is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they're often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else. - Chuck Klosterman  dba
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 dba
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So tell me
again why I have to avert my eyes above the clevage? dba
photo
The Clevage!Not the Sandals
I went into a department store to buy some Fruit of the Loom one-button boxers. There was a huge selection of all types, colors and patterns. But, what I found was a bit odd, maybe even somewhat disturbing. Not the boxers, but men’s thongs, sizes large, extra large, and even double XL were sold out. I still can’t shake the invasive mental image of fat, dimply, hairy, male buttocks highlighted with florescent orange thongs. - dba
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A bumper portrait at
Rothbury with the Leica.John
Barlow at the Barlow bar in Rock Rabbit. It has become a shrine to Dead
fans as they pass through the sacred site of his beginning!
dba
photo There is noting like
shoes for a story in the mind…
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A stripper waiting
for a flight at the Chicago airport dba
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A hippie chick
relaxing with a libation!
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Demons I fear my demons because I don't know what they are. I've seen them my entire life, but they have been in the distance, hiding in the tall underbrush. Now, as time moves forward, they are becoming brave and starting to dart into the open. When I start trying to find them, to deal with their ugliness, they escape back into the safety of the unknown. But they have started to move in the selfish realm of packs and not always just when I am alone. There are times when one will break from the pack and run straight toward me, stop just inches from my face, stare me right in the eyes with a knowing grin on its face. I once could look away and they would be gone. Now, they laugh with a sinister sneer and stay. I still fear my demons because I don't know what they are. - dba  dba
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New Chaos Cards
loaded on the Chaos Page!
 dba
photo
On
the streets of Salt Lake City, Trust Jesus…Kool. This was just how I
saw this image not far from the Mormon Temple. I'm still searching for
a hidden message!
 dba
photo
And who says cowboys can't be flamboyant and cool?
 dba
photo
The Devil in me!
What Makes a Good
ShepherdI saw two older men dressed in nondescript and conservative clothes weaving their way through the halls of a department store. They were strolling among the bright, frilly, lacy, and colorful area where all the bras, panties and thongs hang. I could not help but hear their conversation as they talked of churches, preaching, and what makes a good shepherd to watch over the congregation. I found it ironic and on the verge of hypocritically wrong the area in which they were having this conversation. I wonder why both of them had their hands in the pockets of their loose-fitting polyester slacks? - dba  dba
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There is a
self-portrait in there someplace!
 dba
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Nice Tats! dba
photo
A photo from a serine
special moment, but now as I look at it I find it very phallic, or is
it just me?
 dba
photo
I have found the exit
hole from the portal I mentally fell into last June and have brought
back my muse to fill this blog with more thoughts, Insight, stupidity,
photography and on the rear occasion a bit of wisdom. I also have some
new ink.
NeIghbors
You speak of community, of becoming a like-minded spirit that will bind us all together. But how can this happen when below the surface you slash and condemn the individual for being different? Before a community can thrive and be strong, it must first heal the pain caused by separatism. When we reach a across these hard lines of race, sex, class and allow people to be who and what they want to be, we can unleash the tremendous healing power of joining together a community of strength by nonjudgmental caring. Until then, a community is nothing more then a facade barely disguising hate and judgment. - dba    dba photo
Tyson, the owner of A
Pirates Life Tattoo, putting the
last side on Erins arm.
 dba photo
Tyson putting the
last side on my arm.
Found on the net. I wish that I had written these words below, but I did not. I found while looking for the end of the internet. I saved it, came across it again and thought it was time to share it. “ So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But Ill bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And Id ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, ‘cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don't see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right? You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally… I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you, I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief. |
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