He is the essence of grunge, and by that I mean the hair on his head and face is awkwardly long and black. No that's not a five o'clock shadow, it's laziness. And he's drunk, very.
He's from the Salinas Valley, the son of a correctional officer at Soledad prison. He describes his dad as "one... tough guy, but he's dead now!" And with that he let out a 15-second cackle. A true crazy person's cackle this was, with that really hoarse voice and CREEPY smile. A laugh like that looks like it would straight tire you out, but Damon (and other crazies I've met) always seem so... reinvigorated. Far from expending energy it's more like a refuel.
He's a scenic artist, which basically means he paints cool things for the entertainment industry. He's done a lot of work at Disney, but FUCKING HATES DISNEY. For that matter, he fuckin, fuckin shit man, fuckin hate that fuckin company. Bunch of fuckin assholes, man shit, man. Fuckin, I don't know man. Damon uses R-rated language. He gave me lots of advice for getting into painting street murals and such. He's got lots of friends who do it semi-professionally.
But he's been taking time off. Three years. Now he wants to get into industrial painting. I kept having to ask him to clarify, so industrial painting is painting airplanes, prisons, cars, whatever. If he ever gets around to making a next step, he hopes to make it over to Iraq or Afghanistan and paint a new hospital. I had no clue if this was admirable or not.
"Took" is his nickname. Oh you mean like Toucan? "Ya but don't fuckin call me Took." And you know what, he also has a younger brother nicknamed Pooter. Small world.
I guess that's what I was most stoked about. The odds of meeting a crazy talented at painting, also clinically crazy mofo who also has a younger brother named Pooter, well those odds must be astronomical.
No comments:
Post a Comment