miroslav tichy likes photography (who doesn't?). miroslav tichy likes girls (who doesn't?). miroslav tichy likes building cameras out of garbage (?).
miroslav tichy like photographing girls with cameras he builds out of garbage.
art in its purest form. (stop bristling artfags)
the whole point is do what you want. you'll be happier. you may not smell very good, but you'll be happier.
this is what happens when a camera loses its job, its wife, its home and its dignity.
its true. he does look homeless. he also looks fairly skeevy. but if you ignore all that, and the dark way he is looking at your teenage daughter, then you will see the man is a genius.
with the brownbagpaper frame, these retail at $10K.
this one is called, "pink on the outside too."
girls, i pose the question to you... you're 14 years old and you're laying out in your black satin bikini... when you hear some grunting from the bushes... next thing you know, out jumps the fisher king. he says something unintelligible(he's czech.), and then he points a piece of garbage at you, and he smiles. then he moans a little before diving back into the bushes never to be seen again. how do you feel?
wow. for more on chickenhawks and art, click here. or here. or just watch this.
there is a lesson to be learned here. if you are considering getting into child pornography but are afraid of the consequences, it seems there are 3 potential options. first, buy an older camera. second, photograph at sunset or in the woods or secretly. or three, find a wealthy, credible child pornographer to fund you
and voila, now you can indulge and get rich!
good for you!
just joking guys. i think the work you're doing is wonderful! i won't lie, any negative tone i may/may not be using, is spawned (perfect word right?) from jealousy. skeet. skeet.
forget consistency and updates, i can't even spell the word right. and i had such high aspirations too. at some point, i promise to stir quality and quantity together for an awardwinner but for now, all i got is some shitty digital photographs of my mom and some anonymous white guru. i know that sounds vague and unimpressive but i'm canepari, and you should expect no more.
so i guess i'll begin with my mom. she's here in india. her name is nina. i love her very much but she is the direct cause of much agida and heartburn (she's nuts and i'm nuts. bad combo.).
despite my ill-humor, i wholeheartedly agreed to joining her for a weekend adventuring in the thick. together we ventured to the city of varinasi, seeking spiritual enlightenment and divine fulfillment!
so here is how it works. the river ganges is considered holy. the city of varinasi is also considered holy. where the holy river and the holy city meet it is like bonanza.
so at the holy river, next to the holy city, needless to say, life revolves around the water.
the idea is simple. if one swims, bathes, drinks, licks, blowbubblesin, treads, chickenfights, or marcopolos in the river, then one will automatically go to heaven.
there is of course, a catch. the river is filthy. in fact, it is septic. no oxygen. just death. oh well. it's g.o.D., so fuck it. for a laugh, nina and i decided we would shift roles for the weekend. she photographed. she makes hardcore, lowbrow blackNwhite street images. generally, she likes to be in the action but once in a while, she likes to break out the zooooooooom. in case you missed it, that's her photoface. maybe the best photo i've ever taken. in the holy city, next to the holy river, people come to find g.o.d. spirituality, devotion, penitence, flatulance and my alltime least favorite... soulsearching.
we tried very hard to participate, but overall, we were unsuccesful.
momma did get a red dot on her forehead. then she made this face... my stepdad, vincent aka vinny from queens, got a hand massage from a local... and canepari, as usual, made fun of others...
in this case, i was particularly taken by this man. (i added an arrow just in case you couldn't figure out who exactly i was talking about)maybe, he is the most amazing thing i have seen in this whole country. not only was he surrounded by young and attractive westerners all dressed in white pajamas, but after the holy ceremony was completed, he had trouble getting past all the locals who wanted to touch him and kiss his feet. i mean... what??
i mean... what??? i am dumbfounded. i want to judge him. i want to hate him. but i just can't stop staring at him. he is so fascinating. he is something special.
that's when i fainted. when i came to, i realized that if he can be a messiah then i can be anything i want to be too. unfortunately, i'm not very ambitous or creative so i settled on life as an oarsman. the pay isn't so good but the benefits are obvious.
thats my new boss. i'd introduce him but i'm bad with names. he says i'm a natural. since nothing in my life has ever been natural, i took it as a sign. it. is. meant. to. be.
also, i started my own english school. it's called "awesome english". mostly in an effort to brainwash and recruit disciples. as the sign says,"leading righteousness." in the first day of class, the students learned valuable new vocab, such as, skullfucker, clusterfuck, knuckelsandwich and directdeposit. also, some new dichos, such as, "she looks like she can suck a golfball through 40 feet of garden hose." then i showed them how to make a face like dangerfield. like i said, righteousness. so that's my new life. i'm sorry but this will be my last blahg ever. i know that may be hard to take for some of you, but i don't see how that's my problem.
gizzard. heart. turkey neck. floppy, dark purple liver. large cavity. feathers. quills. tweezers. needle nose pliers. and my favoritefavorite... visible, little, pale knobs of fat. boom. n.i.n.a. now you all know why i make scrunchy faces when i'm taking pictures... it's genetic.
master. blaster. is it more the D.O.C. than kool moe??
pre-voice box that is. by the way, good for him for trying a comeback and all, but a rapper with a voicebox?? gangster for sure but also sort of creepy in a hospice sort of way. like your great aunt shirley that had the oxygen tank and smelled like old flowers.
back from walkabout and i got stories. but i want to do it right so stand still and be patient. it's worth the wait. the numbers are staggering. 1 camel purchased. 1 long walk. 1 sexy blister. 1 camel sold. alright maybe not staggering, or even mildly impressive for that matter, but i still promise hijinx and foulplay.
so wait. i'll need time to gather my thoughts and straighten my hair.
in the meantime, knuckleduster walks the line as always.
"The other night I took her on- out of pity -and what do you think the crazy bitch had done to herself? she had shaved it clean... not a speck of hair on it. did you ever have a woman who shaved her twat? it's repulsive, ain't it? And it's funny, too. Sort of mad like. It doesn't look like a twat anymore; it's like a dead clam or something." He describes to me how, his curiosity aroused, he got out of bed and searched for his flashlight. "I made her hold it open and I trained the flashlight on it. You should have seen me... it was comical. I got so worked up about it that I forgot all about her. I never in my life looked at a cunt so seriously. You'd imagine I'd never seen one before. And the more I looked at it the less interesting it became. It only goes to show you there's nothing to it after all, especially when it is shaved. It's the hair that makes it mysterious. That's why a statue leave you cold. Only once I saw a real cunt on a statue-that was by Rodin. You ought to see it some time... she has her legs spread wide apart... I don't think there was any head on it. Just a cunt you might say. Jesus, it looked ghastly. The thing is this-they all look alike (pink on the inside?). When you look at them with their clothes on you imagine all sorts of things: you give them an individuality like, which they haven't got, of course. There's just a crack there between the legs and you get all steamed up about it-you don't even look at it half the time. You know it's there and all you think about is getting your ramrod inside; it's as though your penis did the thinking for you. It's an illusion! You get all burned about nothing... about a crack with hair on it. it's so absolutely meaningless that it fascinated me to look at it. I must have studied it for ten minutes or more. When you look at it that way, sort of detached like, you get funny notions in your head. All that mystery about sex and then you discover that it's nothing-just a blank. Wouldn't it be funny if you found a harmonica inside... or a calender? But there's nothing there...nothing at all. It's disgusting. It almost drove me mad... Listen, do you know what I did afterwards? I gave her a quick lay and then turned my back on her. Yeah, I picked up a book and I read. You can get something out of a book, even a bad book... but a cunt, it's just sheer loss of time..."
truer words have never been spoken.
thanks to my guest henry miller. and thanks to you... you know who you are...