Now I'm In A Horrible Mood

Moody. Hostile. Unhappy. Lonely.

That's me. I just entered my dumb self into some dumb scam of a photo contest for some dumb reason.

But, I know me. You know me. I'm not going to write some silly-ass "artist's bio" or "statement of work" nonsense. I'm going to write something like this. Yes, this. The crap I just wrote here. Exactly. Like this very page of web log gibberish. Just like the Kingdom of Leisure. New America. Fine Rides. Middlespace. Rhinosnort. Free Milk. All that shit.
Statement of work: This is what the hell I do and it frightens me too. I'm like a shark; if I stop I'll die. Experiential manifestation of something or another....I don't remember.

Bio: I'm Ty Hardaway. What else is there? Guh, people! Like hell you don't know. Why do you need to know why I take pictures anyway? Shut up!

What do these people want from me? A college entrance essay? So, yeah, scam. I'm the mope now.

Here are the images I sent (and no I didn't pay any goddamn attention to file sizes, resolutions, or dimensions). I took all of three minutes to pick 'em offa my flickr account. Take it or leave it, bitches, I ain't got time:

Admin note: I really have to get a new panel of advisers around me. I should be rich and famous by now. Good advisers would be leeching off that bread, yo. The hell people.