Upcoming shoot. Will be posted in completion in the future.

Tell me vicholas….Have you heard of something called an individual’s art style?

Gravestones have a tale to tell; a strangers or someone you know There are flowers blooming for today or weeds from sometime long ago...

Lives loved and lost to the eternity that is sure to swallow us all the air that seem to surround me wants me to respond to it’s call.

Chiseled words weather worn and mossed Secrets lost for eternity Tell of winter nights and howling winds and springtime nights of serenity

And inside of these mysteries and the stone work of these lines and image of our Past and of Nature and our Times-

And time is but a blur, the earth spins round and you turn to dust the graveyard slowly disappears... the iron gates are red with rust.

Vegetation’s filled the site and I lift my hand in front... of my face, to push the gate but I’ve found that in my stunt---

---Your skin has blown away and left you thin and white and pale You shiver as your naked bones are exposed to the Gale...

There is this laptop I once had

and when I first took it out of it’s box

I dropped it accidentally

but it seemed to withstand the knock!

It’s screen was somewhat cracked

but it still was working fine.

It was an average built computer

But after a short amount of time...

I woke up one wierd morning

and expected to find it intact

But the casing, I had discovered

was actually very cracked.

So I figured “Why not I fix it?”

So I got a chewed up piece of gum...

and I stuck in the crevice...

I was so glad I even chewed some!

Later, the frame around the screen

had started to separate...

and so I thought this little problem

I should quickly terminate.

So I grabbed a roll of masking tape

and I wrapped it all around.

I thought “My repairing skills are top notch”

and I thought I was safe and sound...

My computer despite the odds

was still running and working great

It was an unsightly thing...

And I blamed the thing we call Fate.

Then it cracked in other places...

but I ran out of masking tape

So I stuck on it some band aids

onto it’s poor, distorted, shape...

But it still was up and running!

and I didn’t care how it looked

and all it’s hope of looking good

I feel had been forsook.

A few weeks had come and gone

when I decided to make it stabler

with the use of a handy dandy

maximum air powered stapler.

But then I looked for another one

for my old laptop to replace

because it didn’t just stop working...

It blew up in my face!

I tried to surf upon a wave but my surfboard did misbehave.

It bent and twisted out of shape I figured that I should slap on tape.

But I had none, in my despair I asked a passing shark to share. So instead of tape, he did pass me: Red licorice! In long strands of three. I wrapped it tight around my board which attracted a hungry hoard, Of green aliens, in flying saucers a mermaid and a dozen sea otters All gathered seeking something sweet. So we all shared the licorice treat. I parked my surfboard on the beach and then, I gave a piece to each.

The night’s so dark it’s almost inky

The bats squeak with greedy delight

they are strong and tough and flitty

as they lock down on the sight...

---of little bugs and delectable fruits

that are abundant inside of this land.

I think: “These little beasts, they’re almost cute

but I wouldn’t want one on top of my hand.”

With little fangs they seem so viscous...

terrifying and filled with diseases.

They are intimidating and suspicious

they move like a demon that’s broken in pieces.

Like scraps of dark leather they flutter 

in the ominous black of the night

so as I peek out my bedroom shutters

and I compare them to lunatic kites.

They swarm and scatter and come again

Scatter and collect and then...

They are gathering at my window pane

and it seems they want to come in.

I have to hold the shutters closed

as the glass of my window just shatters...

What they want from me, I do not know

but I supposed then, it didn’t matter.

These bats, I saw they were different

from the ones that I knew, locally.

They’re pitch black and belligerent

Their humongous fangs were white and shiny

With high pitched voices, they scared me

but I did use all of my strength.

I was trapped there, and I could not flee

so I drew out the night times length.

When a ray of Sun started to cut the sky

only then, were they ready to retreat

and I collapsed and breathed a weary sigh

exhausted from... my nightlong feat.

 I got some help from a friend of mine

she said she’d help me to fend them off

but I saw her fangs, as she uttered a bat-like whine

and I gasped so hard I coughed...

But it was too late, she tackled me...

and put two piercings onto my neck

my blood, she drank as it flowed free

and I told her to “Go to heck...”

Then she said “It’s over now---

and you’re in, with the rest of us...”

She had blood smeared from her chin to her brow

while I was silent in pain and fear and disgust.

From this you may see my origins

if you just so happen to inquire

why I live my life hiding from the light of day

 ---How I joined the dreaded vampires.

All the fireflies are out tonight lighting bugs, or whatever-you’d-call-them the insect-fairies of glowing joy and delight they are like flying amber gems cool to the touch, they flicker and blink their little weird and wonderful posteriors... of these little creatures. Who’d ever think that they’d exist in this world...how peculiar... With the smell of the earth, and green of the grass they take you to another world, that’s magical. To a world of golden orbs and glowing brass a land, whimsical, mysterious... fanciful! In this night so blue and mysterious your eyes reflect their tender flame. Oh Little Girl... so curious. Oh my Sister, you love this game. You run around with your glass jar and lid to trap the fireflies and call’em your own You are annoyed some had stopped flying and hid ‘cause they’re scared at being called “Yours alone...” As your brother, I tell you to take care and not to crush their dainty light. Then at your tight, closed jar, you love to stare. These fireflies are yours for the night... Seven or so inside of your jar, so blue. Their yellow light provides for your mind glimmers of beauty, and so with a smile you swoon and you give it to me and say that it’s mine. But I refuse and I say that they are yours (Oh, the kindness you possess is like God’s) But in the morning we’ll set them back out of doors and back out again to do their jobs... Of lighting this world so very dreary and provide for another little girl a chance--- to see the night all the more clearly and to join in their lightning bug dance. You nod, and put them on your window sill and we release them the very next day You pray for the other children the fireflies will--- ---dance with... And so... They fly away... And out into the Red Woods of Fall and their little black bodies have disappeared My sister is not sad at all then she says to me “I’m glad they were here”

There are just so many thoughts and ideas

that are floating inside of my mind...

That I can’t decide on writing about tortillas

without thinking I’m wasting my time.

So then I choose to write a full story

but that idea does not long last...

Because I think the plot is turning boring

and it’s not going very fast.

So I tear up my paper and throw it away

and soon I’m writing about my town

but this idea is not seeming to stay

as my pencil strokes are slowing down...

So then I think I’m getting overwhelmed

and I think my thoughts are being scatterbrained

but once again, to move, my pencil’s impelled

to write a piece that is fun and not strained.