Reid Rockatansky

Let me tell you about my relationship with Max Rockatansky. He’s a real dreamboat. A real cool guy. A real survivor.

I first watched Mad Max in the summer of my 5th grade year at my friend Josh’s house during one of his birthday parties. Man, birthday parties back then were the business. When you’re a kid everything is so monumental and over the top, birthdays were a chance to plan deviance and recklessly cause trouble outside of school hours, school rules and school grounds.

I remember the movie was randomly playing in one of the rooms and only a couple of my friends were watching it but Josh’s older brother and all his friends were sitting silent so I sat and glued myself to this VHS screening of what turned out to be one of the grittiest and baddest ass movies ever. Dirty. Violent. Characters so vivid and ornately costumed, big, loud engines, motorcycles and hot rods, choppy, vulgar slang-filled dialogue made a young boy such as myself stare fixed into that big TV screen as if nothing else mattered.

I always hated my friends’ older brothers for being such pricks but that day was one that changed my life forever.

Max was everything that embodied what I wanted to be. An ambivalent and quiet loner with a dog and a fast car, only made mad when pushed by the evil that men do, but a man with no particular destination, wandering, gunslinging for survival, searching for gas, dressed in hard leather.

I would from then on crave to watch the dark and tragic anti-heroes who were hopelessly at odds with the world and their own morality. The romance of hating those who love you or just plain realizing that everyone eventually will let you down for their own gain would be steadfast and hard-edged codes that this little boy, possibly unfortunately, would holster in his core as he wandered the wasteland that was the playground.

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Mean Gasoline

Years ago I committed a dastardly deed towards a childhood friend in regards to his better half. It was regrettable at the time and even to this day I have never truly forgiven myself for destroying a relationship with my friend that should have lasted forever.

This past fortnight has been a brutal awakening to the fact that life can deliver triumph or retribution at any time, in any setting with any character in your life. Since I am now paying a debt that has me on my knees, the only consolation is that now my slate is clean. Relatively.

I’m absolved from all culpability in regards to disingenuous decisions. My karma has arrived 10 years later. I’m now golden. Free from all past indiscretions, I am paying retribution for my stupidity from the past.

I released the bird to live free, true and reckless and taught her more about herself than she’ll ever realize. My influence knows no bounds and I have no reason to waste time feeling sorry for myself for her having immediately turned to one of my … for a new relationship.

At the risk of losing sense and confidence, I must remember: I am cool. I am sharp. I have good friends. I am decent looking. I run with beautiful women. I make enough money. I have a great apartment. An amazing dog. I have cool stuff. I am one of the funniest and smartest people I know. Most importantly, I have fun.

I will heal. My broken soul will mend like a broken bone, stronger than ever before and soon ready to be swung like a weapon.

Now using photography and words to burn the mean gasoline that is my broken trust and devastated spirit. Tears are now lubricant for my smart mouth. Sleepless nights are now time alone to perfect a craft. Loneliness is clarity. Open spaces to recline, develop, savor, study and enjoy.

Into It

This post is a return to creativity. It was going to be titled “Over It” but that seemed cynical and silly and there’s plenty of that in the world already.

My God. Where to begin. With the know-how and not now, where do I even start to explain what’s been happening here for the last two years?

It starts as a cute story that has coworkers falling for each other. Involves great occasions and wonderful travels, suicidal moments and homicidal daydreams, beautiful laziness and raucous revelry. Ends like a soldier recovering from battle. Unspeakable thanks for an unforgettable journey.

Additionally, it’s the rebirth of the writer photographer. Thank goodness for love and tragedy, for without it there would be very little art, truth and beauty produced by humans.