Monthly Archives: April 2006

where i’m from


Where I’m from I am from country roads, Crisco and my grandfather’s violin. From the shadow on the wall. The smell of wood and rain. Grape crape myrtles, rhododendrons and muddy water. I am from Sunday afternoons and farmers. From Sullie, Virgie and Boo. The storytellers and the hand wavers. The hush and the holler.

i’ll tell it. you write it down.


“I seen my daddy die.” He was a handsome man with handsome eyes. He wore suits and bowler hats and bright red ties. His boy would take after him. But he’d never know it. “A man’s gotta be in bad shape to do that sorta thing.” Darrell said it. “Makes you wonder if he hated

10 things


Ten things I’ve told my mother since moving abroad. 1. No, you can’t send me a gun. Guns are illegal. Nope. Not even a little one. Knives are illegal too. Pepperspray – still illegal. 2. Quit moaning. I haven’t paid less than $6.00 a gallon for gas (It’s now $13.) since I’ve been here. It’s

potholes full of shine


I never made no liquor myself. But I seen my share of stills and always knew who run ’em. When I was a boy I helped hide it all the time for Uncle Poodle. I dug pot holes all over that mountain. Filled ’em with ten gallon jugs of mountain lightening. He didn’t put his

the ambasciatori – but not now


City work means city pay. That’s a good thing. This month I’ve been up to my eyeballs in facials and Decleor. Expensive shoes and tailored trousers. There’s satisfaction in spending cash that’s your own. May 27 is special for me so I’ve been liaising with my jeweler and a personal shopper at Fendi. A cushion

piccies


I’ve been playing this afternoon. With photos and some really cool javascript. I’ll flesh the site out better later…add more of my lifestyle photographs. In the meantime…. Pics by an old Canon A40, a newer Canon Ixus 500, a Nikon D70 & a Sony DCST9. And one from a really old (i.e. cira 1998ish) Nikon

they called it vietnam


Charlie come home in a box. A flag that weren’t ever his on top. Strangers in strange clothes brung it up the hill. Sit it on his momma’s porch. Like it was somethin’ that ought to be sittin’ there, instead of somewhere else. Like they knew. The night before he left, before they come to