top of page

I shot the series and wrote the poem "How The West Was Lost" during a debauched encounter with the state of Arizona.  Between lascivious bouts of drinking, writing, and banjo-strumming, I managed to capture the footprint of the human-virus upon the beatific work of the Lord. Golf courses have no right to the desert unless you are putting through dirt and rock. These photos are a comment on man's unrelenting ego.

How The West Was Lost

We hold these truths to be self evident,
That all men are created equal.
With the exception of
Chinks, Kikes, Niggers, Spics,
Whaps, Guineas, Micks, Gooks, Camel Jockeys,
Wasps, Frogs, Reds, Blues, Poor, Savages,
Greens, Yellows, Women, Dot Heads, Fags,
Blacks, Browns, Rich, Carpet Munchers,
Whites, Purples, Canadians,
and any other denomination,
flavor, or idea
we have not franchised.

We The People say that any man
who can shoot straight will own this land.
We The People shoot straight, because
we are a shooting race of non-fags
who have this here flag and that
there bayonet and we are going
to end you where you stand
and scalp you and turn
your scrotum into a purse.
(that happened, all the time)

French for “The Terror”
American for “Treaty”
Human for “Prosperity”
something was lost in translation.

Trampled down sapling style
into the muddy dead
earth we mine
till the mind of creation
is in serious need of
and we have that medicine,
for a fee.

Pay the monies we print.

Cry for peace,
we give you our piece
so you can feel
our white cold steel
get red hot trigger
trigger another world
into existence.

We These People, who are not you people,
define freedom in coinage.
If you fancy you are free,
go out without money,
find how free you are.

Now that every American is slaughtered
the settlers get the second amendment reduction
because there is no government subsidized
killing left to do.

“Is that your personhood?
We’ll take that too.”
Sell us your YOU and We People will
buy you famous.
Its a steal.

fifteen minutes later.

Talking caring talk
as taking hands
take lands;
no more land
left to snatch.

The blacks knew when they were slaves;
benighted the people stand, ice cream cone in tow.

The soul the new frontier
for a frontier kind of men.

Women bound in suffrage
act out liberation’s
bigot expectation.
Bra and child, aborted and burned.
The freedom to be a whore.
Imitation pornographic fashions,
designed by women, for women,
guaranteed to “satisfy your man”.

Anal sex expanding it’s demand.
Iconic illusions construct supply.
pedestrian pornography;
the googol scratches it’s head.

reclusive conflagration:
Sex And The City < Monkey In The Zoo.
masturbation > freedom.
He said she said + OK = history.

“For Sale”: One Landscape Of Identity.

Coffee and houses
and women and men and drugs
and whatever is needed to
ignore We The People as
we walk into the last
realm of beatitude
and plant that brave flag
into the ability
to discern fear
from reality.

Inverted totalitarianism pan-cast in hand held screens

howling the resplendent gimmie gimmie
till One can not hear
the voice that does not use words,
telling One to get clear.

We The People project
coerced peoples
upon the iris-retina
receiving device.
they chatter
that okvapid
till the ears are horsed.

Disposable intimacy
with a get dick hard
make the heart soft pill.
do the geriatric re-divine
till all that’s left to taste
is the throw up of our race
vomiting upward innards through
the outdoor;
the liquor-powder-needle

card in full color,
you haven’t dropped,
no not yet.

but maybe tomorrow, or the days following,
in an outlet consumer plantation erection
death will meet you,
and all the plastic in your pocket
won’t be worth it’s weight in an anorexic wife.

numbered cooperation running like hell
from realization crawling across the horizon, like a caterpillar.

We The People grant you sense of smell.
Then comes the lighting of scented candles.


Everything west of the Mississippi is an Indian burial ground.

No north, no south, no here, no now.

Homogenized like light pollution.

All that has ever been
has been explored;
exploited to extinction.

Whatever it was
that was before
We The People moved in,
now is not.

Even the shadows don’t know which way to bend.

`Johnny Azari

bottom of page