I've known Tyler for over 15 years, and have never ceased to be amazed by his creative spontaneity, and raw emotions on a skateboard. This was an email from Tyler written off the cuff about his observations of people and their technological blinders. More of Tyler's visual work can be seen at here.
Everything was made easy enough and human comfort was the battle cry of the day. Somehow we all agreed to turn everything we touched into a rectangle or square, and then place these bits into further subdivided rectilinear compartments. We embraced the world as 0n/Off, through the prism of the glowing tombstones we all carried around in our pockets.
Still the sun rose in the east, salmon and corral shot through with zigzag platinum illumination like when the tide rolls back on a flat shore.
Gravity is weak, but strong enough to make us wonder and dream. A father and child roll down the hills of an abandon medical complex. They are forbidden to be there by law. The concrete pavement is cracked and vegetation sprouts forth from the foundations like Cthulhu Rising. They pass honeysuckles and wild juniper, through towers of Kudzu and mourning glories. Behold, something stops them in their tracks, something feral and biblical, soothsayer and rhyme master.
The serpent is lackadaisical, sunning itself in the shade. Father knows best, or this is the facade he tries to project at this particular junction. Ever try to catch a snake? It was easier when I was younger, most things were, those that required reflexes anyway.
The hand is so steady, lurks so close behind the snakes, where the arrow head meets the body. Steady, Steady, Steady...
Like God's forlorn gaze, skater shot and lightning bound the thin sliver shade finds sanctuary in the tall brambles. The father steps back, relieved, the son looks perplexed and amused. They skate back to civilization, and on the way home, everyone they pass on the street is staring at their phones.
Everything was made easy enough and human comfort was the battle cry of the day. Somehow we all agreed to turn everything we touched into a rectangle or square, and then place these bits into further subdivided rectilinear compartments. We embraced the world as 0n/Off, through the prism of the glowing tombstones we all carried around in our pockets.
Still the sun rose in the east, salmon and corral shot through with zigzag platinum illumination like when the tide rolls back on a flat shore.
Gravity is weak, but strong enough to make us wonder and dream. A father and child roll down the hills of an abandon medical complex. They are forbidden to be there by law. The concrete pavement is cracked and vegetation sprouts forth from the foundations like Cthulhu Rising. They pass honeysuckles and wild juniper, through towers of Kudzu and mourning glories. Behold, something stops them in their tracks, something feral and biblical, soothsayer and rhyme master.
The serpent is lackadaisical, sunning itself in the shade. Father knows best, or this is the facade he tries to project at this particular junction. Ever try to catch a snake? It was easier when I was younger, most things were, those that required reflexes anyway.
The hand is so steady, lurks so close behind the snakes, where the arrow head meets the body. Steady, Steady, Steady...
Like God's forlorn gaze, skater shot and lightning bound the thin sliver shade finds sanctuary in the tall brambles. The father steps back, relieved, the son looks perplexed and amused. They skate back to civilization, and on the way home, everyone they pass on the street is staring at their phones.
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