Point and Shoot Adventures: Monterey Bay.

The crosswalk where Mr. Chamberlain committed accidental suicide.



The trees on this street were so angry they broke the sidewalk, a protest my brother and I celebrated by jumping with our bikes.



Spazier Ave.



This was one of my first sacred spaces. Today it is the only nonfunctional (headless) lamppost on Spazier.



Shrubbery.



I visited my old high school.



Visited an old friend.



My studio for the week.



The more a hang out with my mother the more I realize that the only things nice, or good, or attractive about me are really just projections of her.





There are many different ways I could attempt to describe what it is like to be from a place like Monterey Bay. But my point of view is just as much that of an outsiders as any other tourist. It is my hometown, but I don’t have the “be true to your school”…Texas…mark that others might. All that sort of enthusiasm or sense of place has been washed over by the fact that every street in that town is ridden with memory, every avenue a bad dream. My childhood was fine. My parents loved and read to me. There were maybe a pair of tragedies in my life that occurred while in Monterey. But they were enough, and I suppose it would be their names I’d call on whenever I questioned just what it was that packed my bags, or closed my Bible, or changed the locks at my fathers house.