Bad Trips and Broken Promises

Bad trips and broken promises I made a bunch of promises and thought I would be able to keep them, but my vices are the ones keeping me sane, safe. If I quit, I’m not myself. At night I scavenge. With my camera at hand, I have no feelings. I know no boundaries. I’m an addict, a convict to my process. The photos are not the end, they are the means. I don’t do it to please, neither to bother. I photograph to feel the rush even though depression is likely the outcome. I come across too much shit, but I can’t not see it. I’m not seeking to represent anyone. I click because I cannot do otherwise. Always trying to develop a voice to interact with the world I see around me. It is not pretty. Noisy, grainy, edgy. As Louis Aragon once wrote, “when it’s time to close the book, I’ll have no regrets. I’ve seen so many people live so badly, and so many die so well.”