the avant guardian family album

This is me, Tracey D, and I’m the captain of this here drunken boat. I live nestled in a moist, sticky nook of the deep deep south, where I practice aerobics limblessly and with abandon. My turn-ons include polyurethane varnish, sharp scissors and taxidermied roadkill trophies. My turn-offs are basically everything else. You can read my editorials on Mondays, but don’t get attached or anything. I’m not into commitment.

Eileen Garcia is a photographer who lives in Provincetown. Try as I might, I just can’t remember what fucking state that’s in. Eileen says,”Life is a dance of slow but fierce moves. Creation is a natural process; at least that’s how I see it. I envelop myself in every second of every day as much as I can by creating- anything to document my own human experience and connection with the rest of the world. I attempt to take nothing for granted and embrace all. I use photography as an organic gesture to illuminate something as simple- yet so alive as a leaf. I hope that through my work I can exemplify the honest profound delicacy that is the life.” Eileen is so fucking emo about art that I had to cut like one-third of her bio so no one would cry. I mostly forgive her sentimentality because her work is dope as shit. Look for pics by Eileen on Thursdays. You can also find her atEileenGarcia.com.

Chicken Flava has little to say for himself. Which makes sense, because he is an inanimate fucking object. One that writes about music. Look for his column, The Bleeps, The Sweeps, and the Creeps, on Fridays.

Michael Lujan, aka Obsidian Blade, has known me since I was sixteen years old. I was an angsty goth bitch, so I’m not sure why we’re still friends. As a teenager, he fed me Nietzsche and Darkwave until I could to vomit oily black indifference all by myself. He was a formative influence on me, and now I’m sicking him on you. Don’t try to run. He knows magick and shit. He says, “he has mastered the third person, thanks to obsessive status updates on Facebook. He was born as a baby in Chile, and has been being born ever since. There is a time and a place for everything, and now is not one of them.” It’s kind of creepy how Michael can’t talk about himself in first person, and it’s probably a trap. Check out his words and images on Tuesdays. You can also find him at Obsidian Blade.

MFSandler is a pile of broken bicycles. He rides on and on, and I follow him every where, my soft legless knees tracking in the mud. I won’t try to pretend I’m not in love with him because I am. He’s a writer, and he knows a lot about poetry. He says,”I’m not sure how all these years artificially inseminating freshwater shellfish have prepared me for blogging, but it’s a side gig, I guess, so here goes… “ No comment. Okay, one. The Avant Guardian is not a fucking side gig, fish fluffer, it’s a calling. And if you don’t show some gratitude, it’s never calling you again. Look for MFSandler’s writing and writing about writing on Thursdays.

Ari G is probably a fascist, but I have a really soft spot in my heart for authoritarian radicals, so here he is. Like Michael, he thinks its okay to talk about himself in the third person and not use any capital letters. I guess if you’re an uzi-toting dictator it’s okay. Ari wants you to know that he is a” performance artist/storyteller who grew up  between the greater los angeles area and suburban atlanta. he has picked up the finer points from neither of these areas and remains unsure as to what his purpose in this world is.” Whatever that means. Doesn’t sound so iron curtain to me. Look for Ari’s words about performance stuff on Wednesdays.

Chris Ritchey thinks that if he shows us this picture of him “driving” an airplane that we’ll all think he owns it. He doesn’t. He probably racked up 10K in debt to borrow it from some jetsetter or jacked it from some A-list lameass that he knows. Anyways, Chris is a hair stylist. He only works on really rich women with blonde hair and big houses, so don’t even think about trying to get an appointment. Look for Chris’ writing about hair and beauty on Wednesdays. Yes, even the limbless want pretty hair.

This is Dahranjelo. He’s 6′1″ and 165 pounds of pure beefcake. He has blonde hair, blue eyes, and that’s all you get to know about him besides that he is a total leg-breaker. Read his digest on Mondays.

Dogface boy is a mixed breed of unknown origin. He transcends species, but has special insight into the world of mammals. He has been dead for a hundred years, yet still manages to maintain the chipper attitude of a rascaly terrier with a wagging tale. Don’t be fooled. His bark and his bite are one and the same. Look for his soiled paper trail on Fridays.