Chalk. This time without fuckers who hose your shit down. God damn automatic sprinkers.

They are out to get me.



Anyways.

Hmm.

Shit, go right.

Hup.

Graflgarh.

Hup, right again.

FUCK!

Graflgadah!

Fucking walls augh.

Guh, dark.

Fffff- rightrightright.

Hmmm.

That's...

Bright. Really bright.

Hmm.

------------------------
To really get a picture of the narrative (haw haw puns, okay yeah that was terrible. I apologize) you have to go along the piece.

And by go along, I mean run along.


Pretty quickly.


But I will save you the breath.

Mostly out of magnanimity (read: It's probably already been washed off, again, and as such it is impossible to run it at this time) and a desire to let you know what is going on with a bunch of pictures of chalk foot/hand prints.

A point in time ago, I had an experience that involved police officers.

I hadn't done anything wrong, but a series of... circumstances regulated my position to... well I had my hair down, a sword out, and was practicing at night, in the middle of a street.

I can see how this would look bad.


I probably should have considered this at the time, but it's too late for regrets now.

The most memorable thing about the altercation, to me, would be the headlights.

Of the squad cars.



It was... unearthly bright.
I remember the entire event very clearly, but those lights.

I'm also pissed that the backup officer was bending my training sword.

But he didn't know any better, and I wasn't stupid enough to say anything.

The same way I wasn't stupid enough to run.

But that narrative did exist in my head.

I just hope it doesn't seem like a meaningless journey in photograph format.
So go to the real thing if you can, in the UCSB art building.


And that's it.