December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....

December 22nd 2012

Spent night in a cemetery in the coastal village of Pescadero. Fog still hugging the valley,breakfast consisted of the last of the avocados I had stolen from the market, the blade of my knife is still caked with the flesh of the six previous avocados I have consumed in the last 48 hours. I am sure the clerk saw me take them. Church bells are ringing in the distance. My boots are still wet and covered in mud. I stumbled upon the tombstone of Enos B. Ralston. The marker contains no date of his expiration, only a compelling edict and date of birth. I found it to be a revelation, a starting point placed among the finish line of rested souls.

I am the peer of my being, there being but one substance. That maker is me that my maker and I are one. That's life blending with the eternal now. I am all that is, that was and that will be. That I am. Who am-otherwise being could not be.
-Enos B. Ralston
Born April 27, 1859

This project is in progress. More images will appear as packages arrive from the field....