He’s buried with his twin sister at
Riverside Cemetery in Fort Morgan, CO. The story is that Phil & Jane were born prematurely as their parents were on their way west from Chicago to California. Jane never made it. The loss underpins much of his creative work and the subsequent anger, blame, and self-analysis hangs over his background like an oily fog.
has a PKD festival now.
Someone left a robot button on top.
I’d like to believe that the WPA artist who made the figurines intentionally made one who’s just sick of everyone’s shit.
Burned forest at Mesa Verde.
Despite the weed rush, it’s still the Rockies.
As always, the idea is to avoid interstate highways whenever possible.
I just assassinated all of my social media accounts. All of them. The corpses of my Twitter and Facebook profiles remain out on the field until I sort things out here.
I’m keeping Flickr around because I like using it as a photo host but can anyone convince me that it’ll be there this time next year? How about in three years?
I’ve long advocated that everyone should own the means of production and it’s time to put this into practice.
Spotted on the Hemmings blog:
. 1973 Grand Prix: The first Pontiac I ever drove
The first Pontiac I ever drove was my brother’s ’67 G.T.O., but a ’73 Grand Prix was the first car I ever owned. Here it is in action:
Outside of Belmont, Nevada. June 1984.
And me at the wheel – hauling down the West Side Highway in Death Valley. December 1983.
Would love to drive one again for a hour or so, but I’m happy to mostly leave it in the past.
Happy 100th birthday wherever you are!
This one flew into the house last night, buzzing like mad, and determined to knock over a floor lamp.
I hope it found the light from the streetlight to be satisfactory.
without having to deal with some easter-egg brony b.s.