She is young, 21, smokes Parliament Lights, and inhales deep with every drag before blowing out, visibly young — her pale skin soft, real, not manipulated. Her features are unmarked. No makeup that you can identify. No tattoos. Holes from ear piercings, but they're unfilled. She beams with energy at every exchange and inquest, with every word. You wonder. You ask question upon question. You want to know more. And she tells you. Without hesitation. Everything on her mind. Forcefully. Streaming. Louder than you expect. More dynamic. Inflected. Strong. Kinetic.
Forcing the smoke from her lungs, from the right side of her mouth toward the sky and past her naturally brown, healthy head of hair. Her eyes are green, maybe closer to hazel. Her face is soft and expressive and constantly ready to break into a smile or a simper or a wince. It strikes you how youthful she appears. Visibly

Minutes pass.
She talks and you listen.
She's excited.
Smiling.
She tells you more and more.
Details. Stories. Opinions. Troubles. Openly.
But then there's a change.
She gets angry.
All of a sudden.
Then strangely guarded.
She gets inquisitive. Toward you. She gets mad. And mad again. Insulted by your ignorance. By your lack of insight. Or something else? Something you can't see? She gets distracted. That car next to you? That car that just pulled up? The noise coming from it? That music? 'Why does it suck so much!' she yells, through gritted teeth. Really yells this. Then laughs. Pointedly. Barely controlled. Almost frenzied. At the car, at the driver, at the music: Chuck Jackson's 'Any Day Now,' playing real loud, and probably too loud for anyone driving a late '80s Honda Accord DX with crackling speakers and a stereo unable to support the volume. She can't take it. She can't take any more of this. She's gotta get out of here. Gotta get the fuck out of here before she goes insane. She yells at you, then again at the driver, who has his windows rolled down and can definitely hear everything she says. But the driver. He doesn't look mad, doesn't even look surprised as he turns off his car and just stares at her, unmoving, and either unmoved or awestruck. She looks over at him and says 'Fuck. You. And your shitty music.' Gets up and starts walking away. And you look around — at Danny, her friend; and at your photographer, your friend — and they just sort of shrug without a word and get up to follow her. You follow her, too. Because you just never know. You never know what's going to happen. Especially with ....

Ladies and Gentlemen:

It's raining.

As an artist I had the pleasure of spending considerable amounts of time with over a period of a few months once told me, rain in the cinema is always an indicator of change. Sometimes they switch it up and it precipitates for most of the movie, the change later indicated by the cessation of rain.

Therefore, today feels like a good time for some change.

For once, I'm actually going to give you what you're asking for. This may or may not be related to the fact that this particular blog posting is a fantastic opportunity to get you twelve different kinds of excited and then leave you wanting more, and I loooove leaving people wanting more. One of the things I find most interesting about people is that we always want, and when we get, we want either more or something else. Otherwise we'd all still be digging for roots, chewing on barely heated chunks of animal, and rutting in the dirt solely for the purpose of propagating our species.

I'll bet you're curious about what I've been up to since May of 2009. Eight months is a short time, but so much can and does happen in short amounts of time.

But I'm not going to tell you.