TRW’s Luke Swenson participated in a group collaborative debuting Fractions Journal. Fractions Journal gives exposure to artists, writers, photographers and others engaging in creative pursuits. Visit Fractions Journal to see how you can get a copy.

For more info about the opening and photos visit www.NakedCityWichita.com.

Photos by Jared Brickman

I commence to you commander with a full face of breeze

that this war has unwittingly seized,

causing an allergy with your policies at sea.

Oh King George where have you gone?

Into the fields with your horse

or to battles beyond?

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An exercise that I find myself neglecting often, though nonetheless a good attempt at keeping things tone. Helps with drawing’/rendering not feeling so much like a chore.

[View with PicLens]

Perhaps if a stranger were to sit-in on our moments together, he/she would come to the conclusion that we were a handful of space cadets on a rocket ship built out of paper mache. And when we he/she would come to that conclusion, I would simply remind them that not many people can build a rocket that flies, especially one made of paper mache.

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A man sits on his couch at home after work. A man who is in the buckets, or poverty as some would say, and works day to day, paycheck to paycheck. His wife sits in the other room suffering from her disease; a disease that tears at the seams of their relationship.

He sits on his couch in his smoke filled living room, listening to the evening news. His eyes squint from the smoke and the pain of years before.

“The DOW closes at a record high today,” the television says.

He sits on his couch in his meager home, motionless, posed with a blank stare. His mind is at idle. This news of the rich men getting richer while he continues to struggle doesn’t interest him. The rich man’s agenda is at full press while his is still at rest.

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The Walgreen’s of choice just so happens to be the neighborhood I grew up in. The corner is a familiar one located at Harry and Broadway. Memories of riding my bike up and down, back and forth across all of these streets. I once saw an accident at the intersection. A car had a run in with the fire hydrant and the intersection was knee high in water. I remember this because I thought it would be rad to build a boat and float. The area was known for its terrible flooding habits.

Though this time my aspirations of sailing were nowhere to be found and I was picking up some film from the 1-hour photo lab at the Walgreen’s of choice. The weather called for a hoodie, so being the Boy Scout that I am I was prepared.

The clinical Walgreen’s scent permeated the store as I walked to 1-hour photo lab counter. The talking fish was still in full stock, as if it were the hot new gift for the good ole boys and the 50 million pack of batteries were on sale for $9.99.

Finally making it past the hot sales, I stood at the counter with my hood up. The photo technician asked me what the last name was.

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As was the case as usual, I made an appearance at the alley house. Playing the guitar for a good roll, Dale had also decided to make an appearance. Wasted as usual, Dale walked in and was offered a beer by Jessie.

Jessie is the nephew of Dale, a 17-year old guitar (gee-tar) guru and one fuck of a kid to hang with. So it’s only obvious as to the offering of beer to Dale on Jessie’s part.

Around 50 years-old, Dale is a bit if a drinker I must say, perhaps closer to a guzzler more so than a drinker. Dale is the father of a kid that my brother and I grew up with while I was an early teen. His round small spectacles rested on his slender face atop his mass of a beard, giving him the persona of a biker-pirate. This particular night Dale was sporting a blue welding cap/hat that was branding the rebel flag. His swagger is one of similarity to that of Jack Sparrow. A country boy at heart, Dale is pure redneckness.

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