On: with wild abandon.

Somewhere in the vicinity of Welland a very big very dilapidated property sits. I would Judge the yard area to be at least two acres where stand, but just barely, two sheds, one barn and this house. The ceiling is holes, the floor a mishmash of rot and strange board games, and the floor also is holes.

On: Reggie's Ren.

From Kitchen to bathroom, basement to roof, Reggie's renovations knows quality.

On: my home, but only for a little while more. Moving, moving, moving, dizzy.

On: no biggie, just my favorite self portrait of time thus far.

On: Racoon house, continued.

I'm calling this the raccoon house, though I don't remember if that's entirely accurate. Just about all of the houses I've been in had signs of wildlife, particularly raccoons, but this one had been taken over more thoroughly. I used to have tons of pictures from this house; it was only one country block from my parent’s residence so I would bike there on a regular basis, it was positively gorgeous, and I'm quite sad that I have so little documentation remaining. Torn down last year, I think.

On: HOT TUB HONEY MOON

1) Exposed piping in the Deathpit (my cherished sub-urban home) 2) The stove in the Racoon house (more on it to follow) taken by my darling father 3) HOT TUB HONEY MOON, the text on a sign for an (I assume) sleezy motel a half an hours walk from my room.

On: it burns. When I pee.

Another set of old housing photos. Mom and I drove halfway to pick Nickolias up so that he could stay a week at my place. Judging by my hair and faulty memory this was when I was 17. I guess this house burned down and they hadn't gotten around to knocking it the rest of the way down yet. The sweet spoon that I'm wearing in the last pic was found on the ground in the abandoned subway in Rochester. I took it home, boiled it and got my dad to drill a hole through the handle so that I could have it with me always. It was fantastic for emergency snacking; I still have a problem remembering to bring cutlery. I should probably try to find it next time I'm at my parents house...

On: it's an angel.

One of my favorite talkies is Perfume, Story of a Murderer. It is the only book to film translation wherein I have found the film to be better than the book; the acting is phenomenal, the script well written and the film is visually stunning- particularly for someone with my love of dirt. My favorite part is the bridge top residence of Baldini. It sparks the same love in me that BLAME! Artwork and drain tunnels and hobbit homes do. If you have not seen this movie and you can handle some gore and weirdness, do try to see it. The following pictures contain only an ounce of the awesomeness that is that film.

On: camera camera.

Apres computer meltdown I've been uploading my pictures to a skydrive- time consuming but fun as I get to reminisce guilt free. I've decided to post a series of old housing shots. A lot of my old favorite places have since been burned down or plowed under.

This house is a mysery to me. I remember being on the way somewhere. A conservation area perhaps. I think we thought it was an old schoolhouse.

On: Alva's Palace, an abandoned house.