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Costco biker bar and pictures 2003-03-13 - 5:30 p.m. 
Chunky dusk asphalt spirals while flesh meanders and wrinkles crash inside themselves, barking out orgasms in gilded litanies caked with vomit. My inside-out shirt disturbs them. Angels weep at the intersection while V6 crickets hum with disapproval. I flip. I turn. I park.Costco reminds me of the Hollywood villain hideout of yesteryear, a billowing warehouse throwback to "Darkman" but with more lighting and lots of fat people. It is the goose that lay the golden shit. When the nerve gas and nukes spray out across the heavens like stars and we all become bikers wielding mousse and semi-automatics, Costco will still be there, its sign spelled out with hellish torche while we duck inside between its legs and indulge our every dark fantasy. All at below wholesale price. Humans weren't meant to be around one another in large packs, at least when food, dancing or war aren't a part of the equation. Costco is a Godless land of crates brought on by discounted sin. Televisions spout while lips move on square faces along frozen foods to glisten in sputtering lights alongside evanescent horse ass walking jumble crunch magic lie steel strobe bunny maggot man disco splat. Errands. Fuck. Moo. Right, it's picture time again! Here are a few of my favs from this collection...
Light cascading off of brush
"Horatio"
Tree and the moon
Money doesn't grow on trees...or does it?
"Falling"
If I said that was my shoulder in the lower right and I had been facing a divine emanation at the time, would you believe me? All the other shots are in my March, 2nd collection. Please enjoy. |
