The words about a photoshoot…

The words they had disappeared….like Baudalliare’s tale of the aging poet my sheen wore off..that will happen when you work sixteen hours down in the Bronx and America had turned its back on any pretense of soul and entered first the dot come boom and then the housing boom..it was about the glitter and the gold and nothing else…they didn’t even care when the bombs returned…my so called scene caved into the fakeness that it was always destined to be..indifference, the lack of desire to leave the comfort zone, apathy, ignorance doomed it from the outset…I was left holding my dick in my hand…but the act of vision is healing…it can sustain you threw the cold winter months when you feel like puking at the preentiious airs you see so called writers putting on the cheap hustles of the petty bankers…so here is a photoshoot of the Greeley woods with the leaves just about gone