Some idiot once told me that I needed to take normal photos. As Lorimer Black says to Mr. Hogg in William Boyd’s book Armadillo “define normal.” As soon as someone defines normal to me, I’ll keep on taking these kinds of pictures. Fight the power!

Anyway, these are non-categorizable works of sheer genius. Me and Oscar Wilde — both of us. All we have to declare is our genius.

Feel the radiating genius from following photos:

Ok, yeah, you can actually kinda tell what this is. The moon, from my parent’s back porch.

What, pray tell, could this be?

Back-lit water from a fountain.

Here we have island of the lost baseball trophies:

This is another one of my pale imitations of the greats. Walker Evans would have made this into an icon. Me, yeah, well, hey, not exactly what you would call “iconic.”

I manipulated this one. Here is the original:

One more. Ok, this one isn’t that weird. This is a rotting disintegrated doric column from inside [fill in appropriate curse word here] subway:

About the last picture of the column. Don’t you care about me, New York City? Just when I grow to love you again, you gross me out with the subway.