Junk is what we leave behind. Junk is human history. Junk is human achievement.
Take a look at this stuff.
A lot of people worked really hard to create this crap. It served its purpose, I guess.
Rust. In fact, I used to have a teacher named rust-- Mrs Rust. She was mean. She was in the wrong profession. She should have been a prison warden.
The name was spelled RUST but it was pronounced ROOST. In the first grade I had a teacher named Sister Fides. We were all just little kids and we called her Sister Fetus. What did we know?
Yeah, these are areas as yet untouched by the plague of "development".
In these parts of the town, and out in the county, you have the freedom to be a little crazy. Build yourself a personal junkyard. Create your very own House Of Horror. Live in a tree house and drink a lot of beer. Fire a .357 Magnum at the moon and howl like a loon. Play your electric guitar real loud. Sit in an old Buick Roadmaster, among the mice, sip a little Kream O' Kentuck bourbon whiskey out of an old jam jelly glass and let your eyes glaze over. Nobody cares. It's between you and the Lord.
Crazy people are the salt of the Earth, and they have a special destiny, just like AMERICA!!
America and her crazy people will probably all end up in the same place someday. What a cozy thought.
Maybe, somewhere up in Heaven, there's a trailer park from hell.
Sounds like a song I could dance to...
Oh, somewheres up in heaven
there's a trailer park from hell,
where you can live like an animal,
and never pay no bills--
I think I'll work on that. Meanwhile, this photo series is finished. And that's good because I've some new pictures.
Once that's done, I can start a new one! There's always more stuff to photograph!
Several months ago I described what seemed to be a high-security installation with a black tower, or water tank, for fire suppression. They were obviously concerned about security, due to the lighting system, cameras, razor wire. Every time we've driven by we've failed to find a name. But not this time. And the gates were open, which allowed a view inside via telephoto. Frankly, the place seemed deserted. At any rate, it is a "Compress". Now we know. And now that YOU know where it is and what it is, feel free to check it out. Don't trespass, though, and be nice. I think people should take an interest in local industries. I think a "Compress" usually has something to do with cotton, and there's nothing sinister about cotton.
We found an old Buick!
It looks like a good candidate for restoration. I hope that's the intention.
There was a great old tree house, too.
Well, that's enough for today! I'll try to finish this photo series soon! Bye!
Take a look at this stuff.
A lot of people worked really hard to create this crap. It served its purpose, I guess.
Rust. In fact, I used to have a teacher named rust-- Mrs Rust. She was mean. She was in the wrong profession. She should have been a prison warden.
The name was spelled RUST but it was pronounced ROOST. In the first grade I had a teacher named Sister Fides. We were all just little kids and we called her Sister Fetus. What did we know?
