What is this thing. must I tell you? Chip marks... Triberadio... what is this who is this He looked at everything and watched everything. He wanted everything ( he still does) Never afraid to risk life limb and heart, diving in for a swim was never a fear. Alien? Feeling of being totally different then the people around him. I felt this growing up. Yes its me... In the first person. What am I doing here? I am telling a little story Tossing fragments to winds and see if they carry to you. Wondering if these pieces fit into your puzzle. That we may find a common point. A place where we can start. I live in the middle of nothing. I travel treeless highways looking for the lost. That sounds so poetic but in fact it is quite true. I've wondered about it. Why do I travel these roads looking for these lost places. Almost like I'm looking for myself in the basements of these homes lost. I wrote this for you. I wrote this and created and captured these images for you. From what I gathered on the ground. What you left me. These treasures you gave to me... all of you. You didn't know it but I saved everything. Boxes full in my mind. Francesca DiLeandro told me. Your work is the record of your life. That you existed... that you were. This is my record, scratched as it may seem. My love for the moment captured, for beauty and decay. For the moments standing at deaths door wondering why I wasn't given a key. Though this record is only a glimpse I hope it is a view you find. Find inside you as something we hold together. My work flows like rivers not mine. I wonder sometimes if this work really is mine. I do not hold it back. I love words, I love typography. Every photograph is value to me, there is no "bad" shot. They are moments of a heartbeat. I love to mix these things into a subtle weave. I look there and I see you in the threads. I remembered I loved you as your smile smears to televised mistakes. I push the saturation, color to push you off a cliff. I look to clouds summer daze, baby Jesus and a popsicles. It melts in the street, more shapes to destroy obsolete value. Poor white trailers fly by when I drive. I'm looking for you out here. I'm creating this record in hopes you will see. That all that exists is color and shape. Pools of liquid around knees that pray