(via dewar11)

Ed Templeton, a skateboarder and artist I like.

Jeremy Roloff’s senior photos. Make what you will of them.

Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev

The Stranger, Camus

Loon Lake, E.L. Doctorow

What else? What else?

More boys on bikes courtesy of boysonbikes.tumblr.com and thousands more at fixieboysarehot.blogspot.com

Do we need heroes anymore?

I’m really interested in Russia lately. I really want to go there. Here are some Soviet housing schemes.  I wish the USSR still existed. I love how The Handsome Furs romanticize the CCCP also.

“It’s not really a painting, is it then?” Sherlock paces around an empty painting studio at Evergreen with his hands on his hips, looking at a bunch of bare canvasses of different sizes. Rain drips on the windowpane, a steady but soft downpour like happens all the time in Oregon. “Fuck you, Sherlock. Just because there’s no image on the canvass doesn’t mean it’s not a painting. I’m tired of paintings. They’re boring. The ability for them to move anyone to think anything ended in 2008.” Flex, a name he thought of himself, falls back into a big cushiony couch, paint splattered and probably left in the studio 20 years ago by someone who was thinking the same things as Flex is now. Flex doesn’t understand the cycles – of life, of style, of art – of anything. “You’re such a great painter, Flex. I mean, those portraits of those deer-boys. They were brilliant. You could’ve gotten shows in New York and London just from those. Why just… nothing?” “Nothing is something. Nothing is new. Nothing is… I don’t know. Fuck it. I hate art. It’s fuckin’ stupid as shit.” “Shit’s pretty stupid. I know. I hate art too. I hate video art especially. And I’m fucking sick of cute little drawings of deer. Hipster shit.” Sherlock stands up and walks over to a small, dorm-sized refrigerator. He leans down and looks inside. “Can I have one of these beers?” “Take it. Take everything,” Flex replies. He’s being dramatic, or maybe more satirical. It’s hard for him to take things seriously because when he’s wrong about something, he feels really stupid and he hates feeling really stupid. Who doesn’t? A kid walks down the hall, black hoodie pulled up over his head, sunglasses on even though it’s raining outside and sort of dark. He’s holding a sword, like a real pirate sword, slightly curved and shining. You can just hear the metal sound it would make in a movie.

Rad.

A word cloud of the first chapter of my new novel, Scrappy Soldiers. This totally cool tool is available at http://www.wordle.net/.  Thanks Catherine.

Sucks about Dash Snow. Dead. Wrapped in plastic. Not really, about the plastic. Well, maybe…

Finally new summer fixie boys. This one’s Norwegian.

Daytime naked bike ride on Mississippi in Portland.