In Cocoa Beach, manatees
floating on their backs watch stars
and daydream about beating
Neil Armstrong at his own game.
An illustration from the vault this week, slightly adjusted and presented for your approval.
Billy Preston killed Darren Conaway. Sheriff Aldridge was sure of it. Well, that wasn’t true but the Aldrideg didn’t care. Not any more.
Last week I photographed a “Night Life” feature for the Chamber of Commerce. Here’s how it turned out.
Venetian blinds bend away
when dodging a blow. Force
not deflected is simply
passed through.
When you start unintentionally drawing your ex-girlfriends, it’s possible that the universe is trying to tell you something.
Scotty Carmack killed Darren Conaway. It make sense but it ain’t true.
Here are a few recent family vacation photos featuring fine art, urban climbing, over-consumption and the collision of a girl, her dog and a traffic jam.
Rock! is a weekly webcomic I’m writing about a drugged out rocker chick who fights off monsters that may or may not be hallucinations. This is a short preview of the first week’s pages.
In the mornings before I left, I didn’t know better
than to leave my hand at the small of your back,
A few lost relics lifted from a now defunct USB 2.0 device.
I’ve got this weird job as a traveling hotel photographer, so here’s the latest installment of photos I’ve taken while on assignment.
Chapter 17 of MAGICTOWN: The Man in the Mist
The way we string “c” to “t,”
top to top, connecting: backbend.
Or, more accurately, the way the “f” holds the “i,”
the way we understand the completeness
When a redhead asks you for a favor, you say ‘Yes’!
Deputy Scotty Carmack is guilty as hell, but guilty of what? Sheriff Aldridge works likes a man possessed, but why? and Connie’s the talk of the town.
Most of my personal photos are highly structured. I spend a long time agonizing over them before I can the shutter button, then I spend even more time slumped in front of a computer editing them. This doesn’t always make them successful images.
I had a terrible idea on Twitter the other day. For something called “Science Pirate”. The bad idea ballooned, and suddenly I’ve got a script and Pat is working on the pages.
I wrote this a long time ago. It’s short. Written the evening of 9/11 and untouched for the most part since then.
Choo-choo and me, we always go down to the river to look for tossed bikes. We go to the place where there’s always stuff nobody wants.
A drawing of the man who does the drawings.
Fearful and hungover, Connie is dragged to the sheriff’s office on a Sunday morning in front of the whole, damn town.