Sucking up the sunshine in pitch black garbage while channeling some sort of gothic pauper or jester. I blame those harlequin vibes on the fact that wearing sneakers makes me feel like some kind of nimble pest. In the spirit of nimble pests and spider spun sheer here's a photo of me framed by some bristly critters I doodled...
I didn't start the day with the arrowhead necklace, but bought it in a pact with some friends at an antique store up in Big Bear. I love the two tone colors, it's also pretty sharp, which means you have to make sure you don't fall asleep with it on so you don't stab yourself. Friendship necklaces that double as a weapon are the best!
-Cruz
I uprooted this oil slicked, probably flammable, gem out of a clump of secondhand dregs. Rather than bore you with yet another manifesto about my love for garbage I'll just skip along to the moment I realized that the pocket canvas of the shirt would be a perfect place to fasten my 'This Garment is Made of Pure Shit' patch to. I've given the place to place the patch a lot of consideration, in case I put it on something that I couldn't wear somewhere with the word "SHIT" in glaring, red, capital letters stitched to my protoplasm. So I figure anywhere I can get away with wearing an oil slicked shirt I can get away with wearing the word shit.
Mechanic's uniform? Auto enthusiast? Someone who has escaped the clutches of kerosene combustion?
I was going to make a beanie with this mess of knit, but that didn't quite pan out, so I figured I'd adorn the pieces to the cuffs of a pair of cut offs. In the grungy spirit of this post, I should note those cutoffs came about from a friend of mine who was tossing his old pants and I offered to take them instead, not the first time. I'd love to make more of these someday, like in more colors and pairs that are more polished or even sloppier, but for now, as I say, "If it's crap, it can't fail".
-Cruz
