#the wind blows a tumbleweed in the background

[yurikogane]

this ones more of a ramble-y post, but. you know idrc its my tumblr its interesting to think about how the team in canon was supposed to be depicted as so close, but really they dont leave space with close connections despite fighting in a war with these people and living with them for an undetermined amount of time. like. ok let me explain:

when the paladins come back to earth, the only real new connections made were with the lions and lance dating allura. those were the only ones depicted with any sort of significance i mean. which is really interesting when you think about it: because for the most part these people are more so bonded through trauma rather than being depicted as actually knowing each other. theyre a unit but really when you take them away from each other in canon, what real connections do they have with each other that werent pre existing? garrison trio, broganes.. i think this is kind of furthered when we see how lance is kind of left to grieve on his own after allura sacrificed herself (which i could make a whole other post on bc it was so STUPID but i digress) and he just. went back to earth with his family? and there was no depiction of anyone really like attempting to help him or even that the rest of the team (minus coran) were really affected by her death. which is crazy, because she was supposed to be a leader figure and like a big part of the team. we dont really see that though and thats interesting to me. to circle back a little you might be thinking "oh but keith and lance had a pretty significant relationship build! they become friends doesnt that count" or "keith and hunk too! they had those few moments where they seemed to rely on each other really, so what?" and to those i say: we dont really see the effects of those relationships though. yes yes they had significance to the fans (cough klance cough) but like, looking at the whole story? if you took those interactions out, nothing changes. not like the others at least, because the build of relationships doesnt seem to have much of an effect on the characters when they return to earth / the small glimpse into the future we get. and it annoys me to no end that these people are supposed to be considered found family from space but they dont have interpersonal relationships that weigh on any real plotlines (which are shaky themselves...yawn) TLDR: basically just me ranting about how no real relationships between the characters were built in space despite voltron being said to depend on team bordering on family. i would have added more but it would end up on a whole side tangent about altean capabilities, plotlines to nowhere, and a long long tangent about how each individual was handled within the shows canon. thank god for fix it fanfics everyone??

[wheels-of-despair]

Look At Him Now Pairing: (Background) Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman sits with Wayne and watches Eddie be a dork. Contains: Hangin' with Wayne, (squirt) gun violence, a lowkey Father's Day fic for Uncle Wayne. Words: 800ish

It's early afternoon when the Forest Hills Trailer Park sign comes into view. You put your turn signal on and feel the summer heat start to close in as soon as you slow down enough to turn, and the wind stops blowing through your windows. Maybe this is why Eddie drives through here so damn fast.

You see Wayne sitting on the picnic table as you get closer. You come to a stop behind the van and decide to say hi to Wayne before finding out where the hell Eddie is.

"Hey, darlin," he drawls when you get close, patting the top of the table next to him. "Have a seat. Enjoy the shade. Watch my nephew act like a six year old."

"Can't resist an offer like that," you laugh, sitting next to him and facing the long row of backyards and empty clotheslines.

Eddie Munson is having a water war with the neighborhood kids. He's wearing denim cutoffs, a soaked t-shirt, and having the time of his life. Six or seven kids, all armed with squirt guns, chase each other through the grass, screaming and squealing each time someone gets hit with a stream.

"I'd tell him to act his age, but…" Wayne takes a drag off his cigarette. "It's kinda nice, seeing him like this. He didn't really act like a kid when he was one."

You tilt your head slightly, hoping for more. You don't get to talk to Wayne alone much. Eddie's always there with you, and the two Munsons are always picking on each other. Which is amusing, but…

"When he first came to stay with me, he was a different kid. Quiet. Lonely. Scared of just about everything. He ever tell you about his old man?"

"A little bit," you answer. Eddie did not like to talk about him.

"My brother was… well. Some people just ain't meant to be parents."

Wayne takes another drag, and doesn't speak again. The silence is more unbearable than the humidity.

"But you did a really good job," you smile. "Look at him now."

Several of the younger kids corner Eddie by a brush pile, and he puts his hands up to surrender. They shoot anyway. He yells and gives chase, and they all squeal and scatter.

"I didn't do much."

"Yeah, you did," you argue. "Your nephew is my favorite person in the world. He's everything a good man should be. An absolute gentleman. And I have no doubt that you're the one who made him that way."

Eddie chases down one of his assailants and lets out a maniacal cackle as he empties his water gun on the kid squealing in protest. His laugh always brings a smile to your face, even when he's up to no good.

"You really love him, huh?"

You take your eyes off of Eddie and look at Wayne. His mouth is crooked in a rare half a smile, and his eyes look… proud?

"Damn right I do."

Wayne chuckles and nods his head, turning his attention back to the war going on in his back yard. The teams have called a truce and gathered around a bucket to refill their water guns. Eddie's explaining proper filling technique to the kids when he looks up and spots you. He grins, finishes filling his gun, and walks over to the picnic table.

"Hi," he says, leaning over for a kiss. His hair drips on your shorts. He stands back and narrows his eyes. "You guys talkin' about me?"

"World don't revolve around you, boy," Wayne grumbles.

"Mine does," you grin.

"My condolences," Wayne deadpans.

Eddie raises his squirt gun and aims it at Wayne.

"Don't," Wayne says simply.

You look from Eddie to Wayne, staring each other down, waiting for the twang of western music or for a tumbleweed to blow by.

"Alright, old man," Eddie glares playfully, lowering his weapon slightly. "You win this time."

"Mhm," Wayne hums, knowing his nephew wouldn't have dared. You love watching them play with each other.

Eddie jerks his gun in your direction, and before you can even threaten him, he pulls the trigger. You shriek in surprise, holding out your hands to try to redirect the stream from soaking your shirt.

When Eddie's finger gets tired of pumping the little plastic trigger, he stands there and grins triumphantly. You growl and slowly get off the table. Eddie's eyes widen, and he stumbles in his hurry to run back to the yard. You wring out a bit of water from your shirt, making a little puddle on the ground by your feet.

"Wayne, if you'll excuse me, I have to go murder your nephew now."

"You kids have fun," he laughs.

[alri-xo]

Ship of Dreams (Titanic 1997 AU) | Chapter 4

Gif not mine.

A/N: Hiiiii everyooooone! So this is again, another chapter and I feel like this should marinate really well just cuz... This bitch literally took a month off because of a writer’s block or burn out as some people like to call it. So i spent time literally taking a break then BAM! My boyfriend (reconnected bih) let me barrow his laptop so I’m just taking advatage of its presence right now. BUT I WILL NOT BE PUTTING ANY READING BREAKS BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE HAVING THIS FOR LONG AND I WOULDN’T WANT ANY INCONSISTENT CONTENT. Yo girl also added in some deleted scenes for a dash of new flavor and tweaked the scenes a little bitty bit. So yeah I hope y’all like this <3 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x Reader

Warning: Language, Descriptive spitting, spit... Just spit. And language probably. And me remembering how Ruth (Rose’s mom in the movie) looks like a bug from bug’s life (I said it. sorry not sorry.)

Reader's Point of View

The next day, I remember thinking how the sunlight felt. As if I have never felt the sun in years.

Maybe he's right about me being an indoor girl...

I walk down the ship, passing by the other passengers of first-class, who are doing what they fancy. Chattering back and forth in their big hats and black coats in broad daylight, for the protection of their complexion.

I made my way to the metal divide that separates third-class passengers from our part of the ship. I unlock the small metal gate which had a sign against third-class, making sure no one would notice.

Otherwise, I would get an earful from Alexander and my mother. That doesn't matter now.

I need a word with him.

Third Person Point of View

The playing of a piano and the merry singing of some of the men on the ship, melodious to the people in their own little bubble or the ones playing cards holding their beers.

The women and their endless gossip, background noise in the midst of the children's babbles and screams of delight on the third-class part of the ship.

All of these a symphony for everyone on the ship. Particularly Sam who is looking at Bucky's drawings, and noticing that he draws from the life around him. Like the bearded man laughing with his friends just across where he is seated.

He puffs a cigarette and smiles impressed with his work, "These are good... Very good..."

Bucky smiles his way as he goes back to teaching a little girl named Amelia to draw in his leather sketch pad. Though all were scribbles and it looked hideous for his adult, artist eyes, he commended her for her efforts.

Steve however, found a girl to talk to. His newspaper boy hat covering his blonde hair as the girl looked like a young doe, making him blush as they spoke.

"Steve..." he greets to her shaking her hand nervously, he wasn't really one like Bucky...

"Peggy..." she greets back shaking his hand, making him blush more... Her voice like the plucking of harp strings.

The three of them having their own fun in their own little worlds, but a moment later Amelia's parents approached Bucky, "Time to go, Amelia... Say goodbye to Uncle Bucky..." her father says holding her small hand.

She stands up to walk away, waving goodbye to him, "Bye, Uncle Bucky..."

"Bye, Amelia..." he smiles as he slides his pencil in his sketchpad, keeping it safe.

Amongst the chatter and noise of the people and the piano playing, Y/N descends down the stairs. Her dress and skin aglow under the mid morning sun peeping through the stairway.

Her hair donned in an elegant updo and her dress in shining satin, her waist cinched with a belt that had a buckle of crystals.

Women and men turned their heads, some stood up to look at her. Her sophisticated facade alien to the people of the lower class, who would only look like that on special occasions.

She walked down a path clear of people, like a bride walking down the aisle. All eyes were on her, her beauty like a beacon of light as she graced everyone of her presence.

Like an angel from Heaven.

She was like royalty, smiling and giving small nods of greeting to the people around her. The women gossiped and chattered about her looks. Negative? Positive? It didn't matter.

Sam caught glimpse of her then tapped Steve's shoulder, "On your left..."

Steve and Peggy turned their attention to her as she drew closer. He then tapped Bucky's shoulder and gestured him to look forth.

His eyes lit up as she approached him. His heart beats faster and he feels all eyes were on him and Y/N.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes..."

"Hello again..." he says as he stands up with his hands behind his back, his sketch pad under his arm.

"May I have a word with you?" She asks with begging eyes. Bucky feels sweat form on his forehead like a crown.

Did he do something wrong? Is he going to face a false accusation? Is the dinner off?

"Yeah, sure..." he says, still as he gestures for her to sit near people she doesn't know.

"In private..."

💎

"I've been kinda alone ever since I left New York... Well, me and my bestfriend Steve were alone... He's like a brother to me..." Bucky says as him and Y/N walk along the ship, her listening attentively, "Since then we've been travelling like tumbleweeds in the wind... Working where ever stopped over..."

Y/N nods in response, feeling the wind gently blow cool air on her face as Bucky inhales the fresh sea breeze with the scent of nearby cigarettes.

"Y'know what, Y/N... We've talked about how great the weather is and I told you things about me..." he says breaking the silence between them, "But I reckon that's not what we came here to talk..."

Y/N's gears turned, snapping out of the seemingly normal conversation with Bucky, "Mr. Barnes-"

"James..."

"James... I would like to thank you for saving me last night... And for your discretion..." she says formally in gratitude.

"You're welcome..." Bucky grins at her as they slowed their pace in short silence.

"I know what you're thinking, 'Poor little rich girl... What does she know about misery?'" She says walking a little faster in embarrassment.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, unbeknownst to Y/N who is looking down, "No, no... That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was, 'What could've happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out?"

Y/N inhaled, collecting her thoughts. Thoughts fuelled by a smidge of anger, and a whole lot of hopelessness, "It was everything. It was... It was my whole world and all the people in it... And the inertia in my life, plunging ahead of me, powerless to stop it," she says, flipping to the back of her hand, a sizeable diamond on her ring finger.

Bucky's eyes grow wide as he held her smooth hand, the diamond reflecting the sunlight back to the open sparkling like how it should, "God, look at that nut... You would've gone straight to the bottom..."

"500 invitations have gone out... All of New York's society will be there..." she says hopelessly, "And all the while I feel... I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up..."

Bucky looks at her expressions carefully, wondering why a girl like her feels so helpless. A girl that is going to be married off to a rich guy... She should be happy. At least it's what he thinks.

Maybe she thinks otherwise.

"Do you love him?"

Y/N looks at him puzzled, "Pardon me?"

Bucky's Point of View

"Do you love him?" I asked again, emphasizing the question more as she gawks at me like I murdered someone.

"You're being very rude..." she says with a bit of shock in her voice, "You shouldn't be asking me this..."

Well technically, yes... I shouldn't. But just to, piece it all out on why she's feeling like this it just feels appropriate to ask. Women like her should be happy because they're getting married... Let alone to a rich man like Alexander.

"Well, it's a simple question... Do you love the guy or not?" I ask one more time, just to get the answer that's right under her cute nose.

"This is not a suitable conversation, James..." she scoffs at me, dodging my question with an answer that's not what I'm looking for...

I laughed a little, "Why won't you just answer the question?"

She shakes her head and chuckles, "This is absurd! You don't know me, and I don't know you and we are not having this conversation!"

I just smiled at her and nodded, listening as she rants her frustrations, "You are rude, cocky and presumptuous and-"

"You insulted me..."

"Yes... And... I am leaving now." She then proceeds to shake my hand, "James-"

"Bucky..."

She looks at me confused, "Who the hell is Bucky?"

"My friends call me Bucky... Buchanan is my middle name..."

"Well, Bucky... I am not your friend, I am your acquaintance and I... I am about to leave... It's been nice meeting you, James..." she says stomping away and I just chuckle at her.

She then turns to face me, "You are so annoying!" She then walks nearer to me, "Wait, this is my side of the ship! You leave!"

"Oh... Well, well, well... Now that's being rude..." I chuckle and joked and she scoffs at me, eyeing me up and down, spotting my sketch pad.

"What is this stupid thing you're carrying?" She asks me, as if trying to be rude, "What are you an artist or something?"

She flips through the pages of my sketch pad, black and white sketches filling the pages, "These are good... Very good, actually..."

I wait patiently as she flipped through the pages and I feel her eyes on me for a moment, "Bucky, these are exquisite..." she praises and I just nod...

"Well, didn't think much of the ol' Paree..." I shrugged as she skimmed through the thin sheets of paper.

"Paris?" She says tracing her fingers on the dark strokes on the paper, "You do get around... For a p-... Person... with... Limited Means-"

"Yeah, you can say 'poor...'" I say chuckling and she smiles...

She flips through a page with a naked woman laying in bed, then to the next page with another woman standing up, still naked, "Well, well, well..."

She continues, "Are these drawn from life?"

I was about to answer but man passes by us and she lowers the cover of the sketch pad to shield the naked drawings from the eyes of people who are conservative.

"That's one of the good things about Paris... Lots of girls are willing to take their clothes off..."

She flips to another page, and she looks at her carefully, "You like this woman... You used her several times..."

"Well, a part of her... She had beautiful hands..." I show her a sketch of just her hands, "Y'see?"

"You must've had a love affair with her..." she says raising a brow playfully at me and I shake my head.

"No, no... Just with her hands..." I say, "She's actually a one-legged prostitute..." I show her a sketch of the same woman, her amputated state in all of her glory.

She gawks at the page and chuckles. I look at her and I see her face glow as she stiffles giggles slipping out her lips, "She had a sense of humor, though..."

She looks at me then looks back at the sketch pad, the page flipped to one of my favourite pieces, "This lady used to out to the bar every night, wearing all the jewellery she owned, waiting for her long lost love... We called her Madame Bijoux..."

She took a good look at her, and ran her fingertips on the pencil strokes once again, "You truly have a gift... Bucky..." she looked to me before she continued, "You see people..."

"I see you..."

Her face flushed slightly, and smiled nonchalantly, raising her head, "And...?"

"You would've jumped."

Natasha’s Point of View

Another new day, another time to put on that familiar mask that I abandon once I wake up from my bed. A feathery hat of a different variant seats on a small table in my quarters as I prepare to go have some tea with the others. 

Being surrounded by rich people feels like second nature, as I’m still taking time to get used to judgmental eyes looking at me or entitled individuals think that I am oblivious and uncultured. Might I say I am also playing their little games, especially the women of first class. 

I may look like one of them, but my heart is otherwise. 

I faintly hear them gossip as I draw nearer to their table.

“Oh it’s that vulgar Natasha again.” 

“Quickly before she sits with us.”

I put a smile on my face as they stood up simultaneously, pretending to be the oblivious woman they think I am, “Hello, girls. I was hoping I’d catch you at tea,” I greet, seeing their just sipped on tea cups, nearly full to the brim and still hot. 

“Oh, we were about to leave... Sorry, but we are about to take a stroll on the boat deck,” Katherine says looking at the countess with wide eyes to ride the show they were putting right in front of me.

“That sounds great! I’d like to catch up on my gossip,” I beamed at them, Katherine’s lips pursed as I could sense her gritting her teeth as I strolled away with the other two women. 

It’s foolish to fool me as I have seen it all. 

Thor’s Point of View 

“You haven’t lit the last few boilers, Odinson?” Tony asks, puffing a cigar looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“No, but we’re making excellent time,” I grinned at him, “A perfect day in New York when we reach land and I guarantee it.”

“Captain...” he begins as he downs a sip of whiskey, “The press knows how large the Titanic is. Let them marvel at her speed too. We must give them a new story to print and make the maiden voyage of the Titanic make headlines!” he says impatiently, with a beam on his face.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark... I wouldn’t pressure the boilers until they have been properly run in...”

He clenches his jaw as I denied his request, then a grin paints his face, “Oh, I would leave you to it, Captain Odinson. But wouldn’t it be nice to surprise them when we arrive in New York on tuesday night and surprise them all?” he then slaps the table, “It would be nice to retire with a bang, Thor...” 

I just nodded stiffly as he downed his remaining whiskey.

💎

Third Person’s Point of View

Bucky and Y/N walked down the deck, the afternoon sun lighting it up the ship’s boards as the people cast shadows on the white exterior walls on the deck. Bucky listened to Y/N’s musings as she said her hands were made for work, to be an artist or a sculptor and her own exhibit. She also dished on why she hates caviar, as he remarked that she couldn’t live a day without it. 

“Poor but free,” she said as he smiled. Y/N truly was a free bird around him, and she loved it. To be as silly as she wants and to be as expressive as she wants. 

A man that carried a tray of tea and caviar passed by, “Would you like some tea or caviar, miss?”

“NO!” Y/N exclaimed sternly looking at the poor steward, making Bucky laugh heartily to see her loud. 

She then spotted a man with a vintage camera and proceeds to go in front of it and act like a picture actress, as being one was also one of her musings. She put acted like a damsel in distress and closed her eyes as the camera rolled, she opened one to look at Bucky, who’s steel blues twinkled despite being shadowed by his hooded eyes, the warm sunlight illuminating his face. 

They then proceeded to go to a higher part of the deck to admire the people walking around on the lower part of the ship, looking quite small. To Y/N this was a thing that she needed to get used to, as all her life she was indoors for the most part. She never basked out under the afternoon sun as it sets. To Bucky, it’s a chance to see the sun at its golden hour, the ship’s lights starting to light up in the incoming sunset. 

However, she seems lit from within. A thing that Bucky never noticed. In Y/N’s heart she felt a sliver of hope when she went to see him in third class. Now that she’s with him, it feels like an escape. A safe haven away from the pressuring eyes of first class. 

Bucky told her stories about how he made only ten whole cents per sketch when he was in Santa Monica and Los Angeles. And how he went to Paris when the weather gets cold to see what the real artists were doing.

“Why can’t I be like you, Bucky? Just head out for the horizon when I feel like it?” she asks as she looks at the warm dusk sky, “Say we’ll go there, to the pier... Even if we just talk about it... And just that...”

“Alright, we’re going...” Bucky grins at her as Y/N smile grows on her face, “We can have a couple of cheap beers, ride on a roller coaster until we throw up and ride horses right on the surf. But ride them cowboy style and none of that side-saddle stuff...”

Her eyes spark interest when he spoke of the side-saddle, in all her life she was taught that was the proper way of riding a horse for a lady, “You mean one leg on each side?! How scandalous... You can show me how to do that?”

“Sure... ‘S not a big deal...” He says making her smile even more and she looked out for a moment in thought. 

“Teach me how to ride like a man...” she says, then her eyes spark happily, “Then spit like a man!” she says in a goofy southern accent.

“They didn’t teach you that in finishing school?” 

“No!”

He paused a little then smiled, “C’mon I’ll show you..”

He proceeds grab her wrist and she pulls her, but she resists “No! Bucky this is ridiculous I was just joking!” 

“C’mon!”

“I couldn’t possibly do it!”

💎

Reader’s Point of View

We went back to the lower part of the deck, nothing in front of us but the tide.

“Watch closely,” Bucky leans backward to collect enough spit than arc forward, launching it like a cannon as it plops in the sea below us, “Your turn...”

“What?! That’s disgusting!” I exclaim as I see it floating farther away.

“You wanna spit like a man, right?” He asks me, “Do it...”

I looked around apprehensively to see if anyone was looking as I collected enough spit that my mouth can produce and spat it out the water. 

It looked pathetic.

“That was pitiful... Just pitiful... Here.. Like this..” he says as he collects more in his mouth and maybe some phlegm along with it, “Hawk it down... HNNNNNK... Then roll it up to your tongue like this...”

Oh is it easier to learn it then to watch? Yes. 

“Big breathe then,” he spat it farther away than the first one, “You see the range on that thing!”

I started to collect spit as I applied what he just said, and spat it out, a LOT farther away than my first attempt. 

“That was great... But you could do better..” He says as he leans back and tries to repeat the same action. I hear my mother’s familiar voice chatting away with some other women which made me turn.

I’m going to be crushed. 

I felt my body grow cold in embarrassment as I tap Bucky on his side making him turn to my mother and her companions, spit running down his chin and a big gulp going down his throat.  

She looks so displeased. 

“Mother, may I introduce to you James Barnes...” 

She eyes him up and down, looking at his probably day old clothes and the dribble down his chin, “Charmed I’m sure.”

Natasha looked at him and pointed at her chin, gesturing that there was something on his face. He wipes it quickly with his hand and on to his pants as he smiled awkwardly afterwards.

Others were gracious and curious about the man who saved my life. But my mother looked at him like an insect, a dangerous insect that must be squashed quickly.

“Well, James... Seems like you’re a good man to have around in a sticky situation...” Natasha grins as he does the same right back at her.

The brass sounds its tune to let everybody know it’s nearly time for supper. 

“Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?” Nat jokes as we laugh with her for a short moment. 

Perfect timing.

“Shall we go get dressed, mother?” I ask as I lead her away from Bucky and the scene that we were in, “See you in dinner, James...” 

Natasha’s Point of View 

Katherine and Y/N leave as this young man toodles at them as they disappear in the crowd.

This kid is out of his mind. 

“Uh.. Son...” I begin to call out to him to snap him out of his head as he continues to look for her in plain sight, “Son!”

“Hmm?”

Thank goodness. However, like a drunk, looking love struck as he was when she said goodbye.

I look at him attentively and sternly, “Do you have the slightest comprehension of what you’re doing?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and grins the same way, “No, not really...”

“Well, you’re about to go into the snake pit...” I say almost sarcastically. 

If only it was really just sarcastic. 

“And what are you planning to wear?” I ask him.

He gestures to his current attire and shrugs. He didn’t think this through enough.

“I figured... C’mon...”

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID HERE?! I made it longer because when I published it i though I dun fucked up because it was like so short and just... You know... Meh... So I took it down, and added a second floor to like add a bit more richness y’knowhat’msaying... So yeah... And with the addition of the newer parts the story is all going according to how I initially planned it! YAY. So... I hope you liked reading this chapter.. And I’m sorry it took so long for me to update. Stand up to what’s right and STAY SAFE BABIES 

-Alri

Taggies ♥ (DROP ME AN ASK IF YOU WANT IN!)

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[prettyboyporter]

Billy sees rows of tulips -- one half yellow, the other red. The rows strech on for ages.He walks down the small path and reaches out his hand -- lets their petals bump against his fingers as he walks by. They’re open and soft, yellow anther  vivid inside, and he there’s the busy chirp of a robin in the distance.

Everything fades and then he feels it. Rush after rush of air to the face and the sound of canvas beating against the wind. He opens his eyes and sees it -- a dragon ascending over him, wings like thin, grey veinous membranes. It screeches and lands in front of him. Softly it nudges his hand with a cold, scaly nose. He touches it, running his hand over the skin. 

The nose fades under his hand and lands on the steering wheel of the Camaro. Hot to the touch but at a near-standstill -- not traffic, a cruise. He’s at a car event with spectators on lawnchairs wearing visors lining the road, while muscle cars and classic cars line the right lane, showing off. Wanting to be admired -- seen. The air coming in the window is blasting hot, smells of fumes and diesel, but he revvs his engine anyway and looks to the right and the crowd there cheers.

The sound morphs into a rumble of grains of sand rolling over each other -- billions of particles of sand rustling, rumbling in the wind, then quieting. The eerie silence of a desert, of a tumbleweed blowing across the terrain. A Joshua tree stands silhouetted with dark, comically twisted limbs, spiked at the ends, against a sky both royal blue and sapphire. White stars dot the sky above. A gust of wind picks up and the sand rustles. 

The sand elongates and becomes low, constant. The sound of a fan. Everything is black. Billy realizes he’s in his own skin now -- feels a softness of a bed under him and a soft sheet over his back. His cheek’s pressed to a pillow and he blinks. It’s fuzzy. There are plaid rectangles on the wall -- hunter’s plaid, white background, shades of green. He blinks again. 

“Hey,” comes a voice. The voice takes shape and it’s Harrington, wearing that sailor’s uniform. Scoops, Billy thinks. “Hey doc, he’s coming around.” 

There’s a dip in the bed next to him and a voice says, “He’s fine. Vitals look good. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, buddy,” the last part is louder, meant for Billy to hear. “You’re alive. That’s the good news.”

“The bad news,” Harrington says. His voice is closer. “Is that you’re at my house. Doc Owens thought it’d be safer for you to recover somewhere that interested paries might not look for you. Like. Yknow. My place.” 

Billy wants water. Feels the desert in his throat and reaches for the glass when it floats into his hand. Oh. He feels a warm tricke come down from his nose. 

“Yeah,” Dr. Owens says. “So here you are, and they’re none the wiser. Steve? Call me if anything changes.” The pressure next to him on the bed lifts, and there’s Harrington. Standing there with arms crossed. 

Billy holds out another hand. Feels like he’s been gargling with glass, but still manages to say, “Pretty boy.” 

Harrington places his hand in Billy’s. “Not goin anywhere, Hargrove. Right here with you.” 

Billy falls back to sleep with the feeling of Harrington’s fingers brushing his bangs from his forehead.

[howrv]

Fargo's Museum Ranch: Chapter 4

Visually, the ranch was pristine but weathered, much like Fargo. They both have withstood storms, and it showed. The twisting winds are brutal coming off the nearby Chiricahua Mountains. At one moment you see a sand storm in the distance, swirling tornados, ejecting white plumes high in the air. Then in seconds, the swirl overtakes you. There is no light. It is like someone ripped the sun from the sky and you are being blasted and tossed by sand at 40 to 60 mph. You are blinded. Becky and I have experienced such a storm driving our bus on I-10 in the New Mexican desert. The most terrifying 30 seconds of my life.

But the Museum Ranch stands as it has for decades, everything in its place choreographed by a master set director. There are a dozen or so sheltered gathering spaces (sitting areas) around the ranch. Each unique and all displaying memorabilia and photos of movie stars with their arms draped on the shoulder of a younger Fargo. These gathering spots are in the corner of barns, under carriage sheds, by fire pits, attached to a hen house or upstairs over a storage shed. In each one, there are places and porches to sit and talk. Some have a few chairs and benches, while others have a few metal milk crates turned on end, or maybe a log for us to straddle. But most notably, in every space there was a single armed chair with a padded seat were Fargo would hold court to a captive audience of us.

There was always music playing in the background. Radio set to a Mexican station or a phonograph player softly emitting vocals of Patsy Cline, Hank Snow, Rex Allen, and Ernest Tubb. Signature cowboy songs. A perfect underscore to match our cinematic imaginations, while Fargo told stories of the old west.

While Becky and Fargo were chatting, I was admiring a Stetson hat and removed it from a hook on a post. Barton was quick to tell me that I should "replace it like I found it" because if it were 1/8 inch off, or rehung askew Fargo would notice.

Fargo and his ranch hands each had a few trucks. Quattro even had a Cadillac. But all vehicles were stashed behind a grove of mesquite or under the back side of a shed, not distracting from the perception that we were back in the late 1800's. An electric golf cart was the only hardware that belied the visual genera. Fargo needed it's assistance to get around and check on things. He would fatigue quickly and often pulled out an inhaler from his jeans to allay coughing and breathlessness. But at 89, he was still leaner and keener than most of our friends just reaching retirement age.

We climbed aboard the electric cart and set out to see the ranch. He rode us to where stagecoaches and chuck wagons were stored. The one carriage with a large frame, Jonny Cash liked best. Quartto pointed out the chuck wagon used by Lee Marvin and Brian Keith in The Quest and Monty Walsh. There was the stagecoach Maureen O'Hare while swishing her petticoats climbed in and rode off, in Big Jake. He pointed out items used in McClintock, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, wagons from the Little House pilot, saddles and spurs from Three Amigos and yokes and harnesses that accompanied the mule teams in Bonanza. Most, he said, he had sold or left back in Old Tuscon where we visited last year. But he still had an amazing collection of important antiquities from the silver screen.

He called our attention to an old blacksmith's anvil. "That thing weighs 350 pounds," he said with half grin half grimace. "You know how I know?" To which I gave a shrug. "Arnold Schwarzenegger picked the damn thing up and told me," Fargo grinned, adding emphasis by raising his eyebrows up and down three or four times making his hat bob on his head.

Homing pigeons moved in and out of their roosts. Fargo explained how intelligent they were and their dependable characteristics. He supplied Old Tuscon with birds for many movies. So if you are watching an old John Ford western and you see birds a flight, they were probably trained by our friend Fargo to fly on cue.

Once he was commissioned to provide deer for a scene of the animals running through prairie. The scene was to be shot from above from a helicopter. However, the producers were prohibited from herding or using live game in a shoot. So Ole' Fargo rigged antlers on his goats, placed them at one end of a canyon and put Barton at the other end of the canyon with the pappa goat to call the "deer herd." The helicopter lifted off and the scene was captured in one take.

We headed down a fence line on the safe side of longhorn steer and bulls to a wood-hewn building with a cross on the front. Quattro hobbled in with us as we entered the chapel.

At the front, centered between two wood beams was a large print of the last supper, the one depicting the servant in the foreground. On the right was a pulpit draped in a colorful sarape blanket with two wooden slats tied in a cross on the front. Behind the pulpit was a statue of The Madonna and another cross above it. On the walls were Indian ceremonial feathers and bells, a menorah, a yarmulke, and plastic flower arrangements. Beside the pulpit was a photo of Mother Teresa and The Pope.

On the left side of the chapel was a firebrick altar with a leaded glass backdrop. A brass cross leaned against a wood mantle and two tin cups dangled below. Fargo retrieved a now extinct, Blue Diamond self-striking match from a Ball Jar, scratched it across the brick, and began lighting several candles. I was about to cross myself or genuflect when Fargo broke my reverence and uttered, "Yeah, I've got all kinds of religious shit in here. I've got Protestant shit, Catholic shit, Jewish shit, Indian shit, and we've even had a few weddings. Quattro there's a minister, and he officiates," gesturing to Quattro who was now standing behind the podium gripping both sides firmly.

Quattro, the minister, told us a little of his story while standing behind the pulpit. He had originated in Pensylvania and came out to Arizona to visit his brother at UofA in Tucson. He met Fargo on set at Old Tucson, fell in love with the west and never went back. He helped Fargo with the animals, worked as a bronc rider and stuntman, and fit into the movie business as Fargo's sidekick.

After blowing out the candles on the altar, we left the church and headed down the lane, opening and closing gates behind us. We drove onto open range where fifty miles of sagebrush, tumbleweed, and sand lay in front of the jagged Chiricahua mountains where we hiked just days before. We arrived at a clump of mesquite trees that shaded seven grave sites. We sat on benches and listened as Fargo told us stories about each ranch hand who was buried there. His words were kind with a deep appreciation for their service.

We carted back to the coffee pot area. It was 2 pm. Fargo moved his chair from in front of the padlocked door and opened it. The door swung inward to reveal a saloon right out of the movies. Four stools, a swinging door, and a bar lined with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and tequila in front of mirrored glass. Hanging behind the bar were cowboy hats, Indian headress, scores of photographs, lanterns, spurs, feathers, beads and oh yes, an Indian scalp. I wasn't too surprised when he pointed out the spur marks in the oak bar top.

We looked through his stacks of 12-inch long-play records. An impressive collection. Becky chose Hank Snow and we enjoyed a few cold ones while Fargo told more stories of movies and the stars he knew.

We had spent the entire day with three of the most interesting men I've ever met. We learned more about animals, birds, Indians, history and movies, than I had in a lifetime. But this was just the first day of three. The next day we were to bring our forty-foot Allegro Bus (our Home On Wheels) and park right in the middle of The Museum Ranch, 12 miles and a hundred years from town.

[scruffandyarn]

So yesterday sucked, big time, and in an attempt to cheer myself up, I finally got around to watching the first episode of The Mandalorian.

(for backstory, you should probably know that my sister refuses to watch anything new with me because I talk. during. everything. 

Something blew up? “FUCK YES! That’s what I like to see!”

Heroine gets hurt? “Oh my god! No! Shit! Fuck!”

Baby animal? “So fucking cute! AHHHH!”

I usually don’t even realize I’m doing it until she tells me to shut up, and when I do realize it, I spend the whole time making sure I don’t talk, and wind up missing the whole thing)

Well, I watched the first episode with my laptop, thinking, sure, I can get some homework done while this runs in the background.

That, most definitely, did not happen.  

What did happen was I took notes--all the things I would normally verbalize are now in a nice little text document that I have copied and pasted below the cut.

Nobody says anything about the whole musk thing?  EWWW, first of all.  Second--I just, no.  Fuck all y’all just standing around, watching them do that to the guy. 

Where are my saloon doors swinging?  And the weird whistling music?  

There needs to be tumbleweed.  Just one.  That’s all I want.

Man, you know that bartender has seen some shit.  And now he’s worried about problems?  Ruh-roh

Dude just got cut in half by the saloon door!  Sweet baby jesus!

OK, so musky-dude is a bounty.

Where do I know the driver from? (ty, IMDB--Just Shoot Me--don’t judge)

Molting?  Dude...ewwwwww.

STFU, so freaking stupid.  Like, he’s...yep, he’s right behind you.  Dumbass.

Need a Rihanna gif right now…

Calamari Flan...that does not sound delicious

Dude couldn’t pay you for your current catch...wtf makes you think he’s gonna pay you next time?

There is one...cut to random alien side-eyeing the conversation...so we know shit’s about to get real

Underworld...dun dun DUUUUUUUN

Is that a VR headset?

It’s a trash can with legs!

Stormies!

Dumbass just barging in.  A doctor...of course he is.

4 to 1...I like those odds.  Yeah, cause we all know stormies can’t shoot for shit.

He’s a bad dude.  You know how I know this?  It’s not the stormies, it’s his accent. 

Back...so, I have your shit, you should have your shit, but I’m gonna make you work for your shit?  Asshole.

Oh...you’re gonna make the little critter watch it’s family get roasted?!  WTF

Is this supposed to be some sort of secret lair?  Cause a curtain isn’t gonna keep out much

Even the kids have helmets?  Like...do they get one at birth and it just keeps getting resized whenever their heads get too big?

Lady blacksmith!!!  Fuck gender roles!!!  But what is with the accent?

That is some pretty dramatic music for melting down some metal

Bitch, she knows.

FLASHBACKS!!!

Did they just...shove a kid in a crate?

Why’s your shoulder blinking?  Like, are you part robot?

Shiny shoulder!

Is it weird that I think his ship reminds me of the grasshopper from Bug’s Life?

Were you just expecting the bounty to just be there? Right where you parked?

If the thing has a sight, can you not fire it?  Why did you not fire it?

Dude, I hope you’ve had your tetanus shot.  Is there rabies in this universe?

You can ride these things?  Mr. “I have spoken” with the electric tranq darts.

Getting a total, Yoda-vibe, from this dude, by the way, he speaks

IDGAF if you can’t ride, my dude.  I. have. spoken.

Bitchin!  Eating the males during mating!

Dude, weak-ass fall.

You are a Mandalorian!  Like the title of this show!  Get your shit together and get on that thing!  

That’s a foal?  You don’t ride the fucking babies you assholes!

Take the cape off!  Take it off...it’s blowing in the...you think maybe the movement of it blowing in the wind might be spooking it?!

Ok, good, keep talking to it...settle?...you could be saying ‘banana’ for all it knows

Dude, you don’t put your hand up near its eyes, it’s gonna freak out

Nevermind...apparently, Mr. Bounty Hunter is a Blurrg Whisperer...no montage needed

Wait...does the old guy know what the bounty is?

“I have spoken.” Peace out bitches!

How is the sun not reflecting off the shiny?

Spinny droid is awesome

Boom! right in the shiny shoulder

I thought I was the only one--no, I thought I was the only one...can you guys be an old married couple later?  People are gonna start shooting at you soon

Stfu, we need a plan

Alert!  Yeah, no shit

Why did that dude just jump out for a really rough game of tag?

How does this tracking fob thing work?  Does it work off DNA?  How does it know it’s closer?  This tech is super fascinating

Self destruct--overdramatic much?

Okay...BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Couldn’t it just run out in the middle of all them and self destruct?

Because what better way to open a door than to blow it up with a machine gun?

Dude...they blew out a slice of bread 

Fucking gonna shoot baby Yoda???

Thank you, Mr. Mandalorian

Aww… it’s that one painting with the ET fingers...god and man, er...whatever

All those aliens you killed were just trying to protect baby Yoda.  You sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done

[igarcia00-blog]

What do you see? I see tumbleweeds, a fence, dirt, the blue sky, a sign, a few buildings, a radio tower, and weeds. When I first saw this on my hike up a tall mountain, I knew I had to take this picture to capture tumbleweeds trying to help each other jump the fence. The fence could represent the prison the tumbleweeds are in. Of course, the tumbleweeds don’t have brains or human characteristics, but this is what I saw when I took the photo. The bright blue sky implies the photo was taken near midday. In the background, you can see two towers projecting a signal and watching over the area. The lightly shaded brown plants on the ground look like they are stuck in a position were the wind is blowing them down. Looking at the amount of clouds in the sky, it looks like a beautiful day. Also, a few tumbleweeds are on the other side of the fence representing that a few tumbleweeds made it over the barrier. The small buildings in the background are the facility buildings sitting on top of the mountain, placed inside the fence barrier. In conclusion, everyone has a different perspective on what they see from this picture.

[flauntpage]

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man

There's a glimpse of Benny Podda in the ESPN documentary about the rise and fall of Todd Marinovich: "martial artist Benny Podda," the voiceover says, was a coach for the former Raiders quarterback. Podda also trained Chuck Norris and made a cameo in one of his movies. A Pennsylvania-born bodybuilder who won a National Physique Committee championship along with a smattering of other titles, Podda was eccentric even in a world of weirdoes: he allegedly robbed a pharmacy for painkillers using a bow and arrow, posed for bodybuilding competitions wearing a werewolf mask, spurted blood out of his nose on command, and could dangle more than 200 pounds from his testicles. He once hung himself from a noose at a bodybuilding show in Newark, New Jersey; swayed for five minutes; then opened his eyes and gave the audience the finger. An aside in the Los Angeles Times says he studied martial arts in China for five years, and he claimed to have traveled to China to compete in (and win) martial arts tournaments that took place on tabletops.

That Marinovich footage was taken during what was probably Podda's last stint in society. A celebrity who checked out before the age of Google to live in a cave and treat the sick and desperate on an Indian reservation, Podda doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. His whereabouts today are unclear. Nearly every second-hand word about his legend comes from a November 2004 feature in Men's Fitness . When photographer Ray Lego got the call to fly to southern California for the photo shoot, he didn't know what to expect. "I didn't know squat about him," Lego says. "All I really had to go by was that he was a dude that wore a werewolf mask and lived in a cave." What followed was a hallucinogenic journey through the rattlesnake-riddled home of the Cahuilla Indians, sipping a concoction made from homegrown marijuana and undisclosed herbal add-ons, and watching a then-47-year-old man abuse himself for a camera to demonstrate his Iron Palm prowess.

Ray Lego: My assistant and I flew in to California and they put us up in some super-nice hotel in Palm Springs—every time the wind blew you could smell the rosemary growing outside our window from one floor down to the next. We had everything ready and were just waiting and drinking margaritas at the pool floating around and having a good old time. I had no idea what I was going into.

The next day we get a call, and an Asian woman said, "Benny's ready. Meet at this place." It was a phone booth right outside an [Indian] reservation. We drove two hours through the [San Bernardino Mountains] to where she told us to go, she came down in a car and said, "Follow us."…It was desert with tumbleweeds blowing through, chicken wire, junk and car parts everywhere—it wasn't beautiful at all. You could see someone shooting a gun at a target in the background, there was a jeep with all the wheels off of it and it looked like it had rusted into the ground. We followed her into the Indian reservation and came to a beat-up ranch house, and out in the backyard was this fenced-off trail where illegal immigrants would come through to America.

Benny was waiting for us and he looked insane. He looked like the biggest person I'd ever seen, he had these black kung-fu-MC-Hammer pants on, these kung fu shoes, and a ripped-up white t-shirt. His hair was so black and his face was so muscular—even his jaw, everything. I remember him coming up to me and saying all this stuff like, "I know what you're going through. I can feel your pain."

Benny wasn't Indian. The reason why he was allowed on the reservation was because he healed one of the chiefs' daughters or something like that. He started telling me a story—and I have no idea if any of this was true—about how he'd heal AIDS patients, people with addiction, all sorts of stuff, with acupuncture, acupressure, and this medicinal potion, which was basically the pot he grew in the backyard mixed with grain alcohol, ginger, and herbs.

He must have had 100 jars of it, all lined up on a shelf over a bed on the floor with sheets hanging over the windows—the older the jar, the darker it got. We started drinking it and right off the bat it burned. I've had grain alcohol and super-proof liquor, but I thought this was some other chemical. The first one went down really hard and I almost lost my mind. But he's like, "You gotta drink a couple more." Benny had his own little gallon he was drinking like it was water, and he kept saying, "This is so important. This is part of it. You have to get in the right state of mind." After about three or four shots we started talking, and all of the sudden it was like, boom.

I almost felt like I was hallucinating, but not like mushrooms or acid. Everything went really quiet, I was really focused, and it was bizarre. I could hear people talking from the other room, everything was very bright—it was intense, but I enjoyed it. It wasn't scary. It could have easily had peyote in it, but I don't remember him saying anything because I would have been like, "Eh, no thanks." Peyote is like an all-day kind of thing and I had to work—kind of.

I don't think those guys had a car that was legal to drive, so I'm driving and Benny gets in right next to me, right in the center, and his assistant gets in on the passenger side with all the goodie bags—more potion, all these homemade energy drinks and weird concoctions in little Ball mason jars. I'm driving and I wasn't really worried—I didn't feel intoxicated at all. I've never felt more alive to drive. But my assistant was in the back babbling like a lunatic, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball.

We drove 45 minutes out to the waterfall where Benny cleanses himself and cleanses other people before going into his cave. It was part of this Iron Palm thing—he never said Iron Palm, but that's the only term I can come up with to describe what it was. It's a martial arts technique where you get a piece of wood, tap it on your hand for a day, then the next day you do it a little bit harder, the next day a little harder, until months down the road you can smash it against your hands, and you can do that all over your body—arms, chest, whatever. It builds up your bones and skins to be able to take and deliver punishing blows. That was the whole philosophy.

The water [from the waterfall] was coming down so hard and there was so much of it. He told me if I went underneath I probably wouldn't survive it—I wanted to do it, and he said, "Well you'd probably end up snapping your neck." But he jumps in and goes right under the waterfall, taking the full brunt of it, doing all martial art katas mixed in with werewolf poses. He stayed under there for about 20 minutes going in and out of it. I can hear the water hitting him and it sounded so violent. I was just waiting for him to fall down, but this guy is like a cinderblock. He's older, but he's so thick and stout and I don't think anything could have knocked him down.

We went to this little pond where the water would pool up, and Benny was saying how he could control his breath, stay submerged for a long time under water, sometimes almost drowning himself, taking water into his lungs, then expelling it and coming back to life. He started submerging himself—the first time he must have done it for about five minutes before he came back up. The second time he did it it must have been like 10 minutes. And the third time he did it, the Asian woman was standing on his chest, not letting him get back up—he said he knows his body can take it. He basically drowned and the Asian woman pulled him out of the water, and he brought himself back by just puking up the water.

You know how swimmers drown, let out a big cough of water, and come back to life? It was like that. It was insane. I think that's why I didn't even really take photos: I was so in awe of it all that I really wanted to enjoy the experience in real life instead of looking at it through glass. And it wasn't part of a script—he just did it.

Next we went to the cave, which was in the middle of a desert like you'd see in a movie with a rock formation, which was the cave, about half a mile in the background. As soon as we started walking through the desert, the rattlers started going off—rattlesnakes were everywhere and I kind of freaked out. And it was rattling like crazy everywhere we went, which meant the snake is threatened by us and could see us and is rattling to try to scare us away. And we were walking through it. I had flip-flops on.

When we got to the cave Benny told me stories about the nights he'd spend there, the peyote he would eat, how people would bring him stuff from town, and how he'd talk to the spirits. You'd go inside the cave and it opened to an auditorium type of thing where it almost looked like [a place] where a band would play. He said the spirits would sing to him, talk to him, and they'd chase him through the catacombs of rocks. He slept with a rock as his pillow, people would come bring him food, cases of beer—I remember him talking about the beer as one of his luxuries. He'd train at the cave, lifting rocks and doing spiritual types of things. He broke his ankle when he lived there, getting chased through the rocks by the spirits and stuff. Instead of going to the hospital, he'd heal it by walking through deep sand that he said was over 200 degrees and the heat from the sand would heal his ankle. I stuck my hand in the sand and I couldn't even keep it in for a second because it was so hot.

We went back to his house on the reservation, and we started drinking a lot more of the potion and talking about whether we were going to do the swinging ball shot. Benny really wanted to do it, and it was probably something I should have done. But hanging 220 pounds of weight from his balls while I took pictures of it just seemed very strange at the time. I've done a lot of crazy sex-type photos, but that just seemed too weird.

We started doing photos of the beating stick thing—this 180-spoke baton. It looks like a whisk, but it must have weighed 15 pounds. This goes back to the Iron Palm kind of thing where he could mentally tune out the pain and strengthen his body, his skin and bones through the constant pounding of this metal baton. We set up the camera, set up the lights, and he starts whacking himself like crazy, just beating every part of his body one after another, and just enjoying it. Every time he hits his skin with those spokes, I waited for his skin to slice open and start bleeding, but it never happened. He was doing it on his face, his neck, his balls, his legs, every part of his body. And it was almost like he was immune to it. I think the last shots of the day were the shots of him drinking the potion from the big jar with a chain whip on the table and stuff.

Benny was super nice, a really nice genuine person. He was super-mellow. He did crazy things, but he was so level and down to earth. He was just living life on his own terms. Sometimes you get really big and think, "This sucks, I don't want the fame," but he never really got huge. He wasn't like Schwarzenegger: he was always on the fringe. Right now, he could probably come back and do something pretty crazy.

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man

There's a glimpse of Benny Podda in the ESPN documentary about the rise and fall of Todd Marinovich: "martial artist Benny Podda," the voiceover says, was a coach for the former Raiders quarterback. Podda also trained Chuck Norris and made a cameo in one of his movies. A Pennsylvania-born bodybuilder who won a National Physique Committee championship along with a smattering of other titles, Podda was eccentric even in a world of weirdoes: he allegedly robbed a pharmacy for painkillers using a bow and arrow, posed for bodybuilding competitions wearing a werewolf mask, spurted blood out of his nose on command, and could dangle more than 200 pounds from his testicles. He once hung himself from a noose at a bodybuilding show in Newark, New Jersey; swayed for five minutes; then opened his eyes and gave the audience the finger. An aside in the Los Angeles Times says he studied martial arts in China for five years, and he claimed to have traveled to China to compete in (and win) martial arts tournaments that took place on tabletops.

That Marinovich footage was taken during what was probably Podda's last stint in society. A celebrity who checked out before the age of Google to live in a cave and treat the sick and desperate on an Indian reservation, Podda doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. His whereabouts today are unclear. Nearly every second-hand word about his legend comes from a November 2004 feature in Men's Fitness . When photographer Ray Lego got the call to fly to southern California for the photo shoot, he didn't know what to expect. "I didn't know squat about him," Lego says. "All I really had to go by was that he was a dude that wore a werewolf mask and lived in a cave." What followed was a hallucinogenic journey through the rattlesnake-riddled home of the Cahuilla Indians, sipping a concoction made from homegrown marijuana and undisclosed herbal add-ons, and watching a then-47-year-old man abuse himself for a camera to demonstrate his Iron Palm prowess.

Ray Lego: My assistant and I flew in to California and they put us up in some super-nice hotel in Palm Springs—every time the wind blew you could smell the rosemary growing outside our window from one floor down to the next. We had everything ready and were just waiting and drinking margaritas at the pool floating around and having a good old time. I had no idea what I was going into.

The next day we get a call, and an Asian woman said, "Benny's ready. Meet at this place." It was a phone booth right outside an [Indian] reservation. We drove two hours through the [San Bernardino Mountains] to where she told us to go, she came down in a car and said, "Follow us."…It was desert with tumbleweeds blowing through, chicken wire, junk and car parts everywhere—it wasn't beautiful at all. You could see someone shooting a gun at a target in the background, there was a jeep with all the wheels off of it and it looked like it had rusted into the ground. We followed her into the Indian reservation and came to a beat-up ranch house, and out in the backyard was this fenced-off trail where illegal immigrants would come through to America.

Benny was waiting for us and he looked insane. He looked like the biggest person I'd ever seen, he had these black kung-fu-MC-Hammer pants on, these kung fu shoes, and a ripped-up white t-shirt. His hair was so black and his face was so muscular—even his jaw, everything. I remember him coming up to me and saying all this stuff like, "I know what you're going through. I can feel your pain."

Benny wasn't Indian. The reason why he was allowed on the reservation was because he healed one of the chiefs' daughters or something like that. He started telling me a story—and I have no idea if any of this was true—about how he'd heal AIDS patients, people with addiction, all sorts of stuff, with acupuncture, acupressure, and this medicinal potion, which was basically the pot he grew in the backyard mixed with grain alcohol, ginger, and herbs.

He must have had 100 jars of it, all lined up on a shelf over a bed on the floor with sheets hanging over the windows—the older the jar, the darker it got. We started drinking it and right off the bat it burned. I've had grain alcohol and super-proof liquor, but I thought this was some other chemical. The first one went down really hard and I almost lost my mind. But he's like, "You gotta drink a couple more." Benny had his own little gallon he was drinking like it was water, and he kept saying, "This is so important. This is part of it. You have to get in the right state of mind." After about three or four shots we started talking, and all of the sudden it was like, boom.

I almost felt like I was hallucinating, but not like mushrooms or acid. Everything went really quiet, I was really focused, and it was bizarre. I could hear people talking from the other room, everything was very bright—it was intense, but I enjoyed it. It wasn't scary. It could have easily had peyote in it, but I don't remember him saying anything because I would have been like, "Eh, no thanks." Peyote is like an all-day kind of thing and I had to work—kind of.

I don't think those guys had a car that was legal to drive, so I'm driving and Benny gets in right next to me, right in the center, and his assistant gets in on the passenger side with all the goodie bags—more potion, all these homemade energy drinks and weird concoctions in little Ball mason jars. I'm driving and I wasn't really worried—I didn't feel intoxicated at all. I've never felt more alive to drive. But my assistant was in the back babbling like a lunatic, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball.

We drove 45 minutes out to the waterfall where Benny cleanses himself and cleanses other people before going into his cave. It was part of this Iron Palm thing—he never said Iron Palm, but that's the only term I can come up with to describe what it was. It's a martial arts technique where you get a piece of wood, tap it on your hand for a day, then the next day you do it a little bit harder, the next day a little harder, until months down the road you can smash it against your hands, and you can do that all over your body—arms, chest, whatever. It builds up your bones and skins to be able to take and deliver punishing blows. That was the whole philosophy.

The water [from the waterfall] was coming down so hard and there was so much of it. He told me if I went underneath I probably wouldn't survive it—I wanted to do it, and he said, "Well you'd probably end up snapping your neck." But he jumps in and goes right under the waterfall, taking the full brunt of it, doing all martial art katas mixed in with werewolf poses. He stayed under there for about 20 minutes going in and out of it. I can hear the water hitting him and it sounded so violent. I was just waiting for him to fall down, but this guy is like a cinderblock. He's older, but he's so thick and stout and I don't think anything could have knocked him down.

We went to this little pond where the water would pool up, and Benny was saying how he could control his breath, stay submerged for a long time under water, sometimes almost drowning himself, taking water into his lungs, then expelling it and coming back to life. He started submerging himself—the first time he must have done it for about five minutes before he came back up. The second time he did it it must have been like 10 minutes. And the third time he did it, the Asian woman was standing on his chest, not letting him get back up—he said he knows his body can take it. He basically drowned and the Asian woman pulled him out of the water, and he brought himself back by just puking up the water.

You know how swimmers drown, let out a big cough of water, and come back to life? It was like that. It was insane. I think that's why I didn't even really take photos: I was so in awe of it all that I really wanted to enjoy the experience in real life instead of looking at it through glass. And it wasn't part of a script—he just did it.

Next we went to the cave, which was in the middle of a desert like you'd see in a movie with a rock formation, which was the cave, about half a mile in the background. As soon as we started walking through the desert, the rattlers started going off—rattlesnakes were everywhere and I kind of freaked out. And it was rattling like crazy everywhere we went, which meant the snake is threatened by us and could see us and is rattling to try to scare us away. And we were walking through it. I had flip-flops on.

When we got to the cave Benny told me stories about the nights he'd spend there, the peyote he would eat, how people would bring him stuff from town, and how he'd talk to the spirits. You'd go inside the cave and it opened to an auditorium type of thing where it almost looked like [a place] where a band would play. He said the spirits would sing to him, talk to him, and they'd chase him through the catacombs of rocks. He slept with a rock as his pillow, people would come bring him food, cases of beer—I remember him talking about the beer as one of his luxuries. He'd train at the cave, lifting rocks and doing spiritual types of things. He broke his ankle when he lived there, getting chased through the rocks by the spirits and stuff. Instead of going to the hospital, he'd heal it by walking through deep sand that he said was over 200 degrees and the heat from the sand would heal his ankle. I stuck my hand in the sand and I couldn't even keep it in for a second because it was so hot.

We went back to his house on the reservation, and we started drinking a lot more of the potion and talking about whether we were going to do the swinging ball shot. Benny really wanted to do it, and it was probably something I should have done. But hanging 220 pounds of weight from his balls while I took pictures of it just seemed very strange at the time. I've done a lot of crazy sex-type photos, but that just seemed too weird.

We started doing photos of the beating stick thing—this 180-spoke baton. It looks like a whisk, but it must have weighed 15 pounds. This goes back to the Iron Palm kind of thing where he could mentally tune out the pain and strengthen his body, his skin and bones through the constant pounding of this metal baton. We set up the camera, set up the lights, and he starts whacking himself like crazy, just beating every part of his body one after another, and just enjoying it. Every time he hits his skin with those spokes, I waited for his skin to slice open and start bleeding, but it never happened. He was doing it on his face, his neck, his balls, his legs, every part of his body. And it was almost like he was immune to it. I think the last shots of the day were the shots of him drinking the potion from the big jar with a chain whip on the table and stuff.

Benny was super nice, a really nice genuine person. He was super-mellow. He did crazy things, but he was so level and down to earth. He was just living life on his own terms. Sometimes you get really big and think, "This sucks, I don't want the fame," but he never really got huge. He wasn't like Schwarzenegger: he was always on the fringe. Right now, he could probably come back and do something pretty crazy.

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man

There's a glimpse of Benny Podda in the ESPN documentary about the rise and fall of Todd Marinovich: "martial artist Benny Podda," the voiceover says, was a coach for the former Raiders quarterback. Podda also trained Chuck Norris and made a cameo in one of his movies. A Pennsylvania-born bodybuilder who won a National Physique Committee championship along with a smattering of other titles, Podda was eccentric even in a world of weirdoes: he allegedly robbed a pharmacy for painkillers using a bow and arrow, posed for bodybuilding competitions wearing a werewolf mask, spurted blood out of his nose on command, and could dangle more than 200 pounds from his testicles. He once hung himself from a noose at a bodybuilding show in Newark, New Jersey; swayed for five minutes; then opened his eyes and gave the audience the finger. An aside in the Los Angeles Times says he studied martial arts in China for five years, and he claimed to have traveled to China to compete in (and win) martial arts tournaments that took place on tabletops.

That Marinovich footage was taken during what was probably Podda's last stint in society. A celebrity who checked out before the age of Google to live in a cave and treat the sick and desperate on an Indian reservation, Podda doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. His whereabouts today are unclear. Nearly every second-hand word about his legend comes from a November 2004 feature in Men's Fitness . When photographer Ray Lego got the call to fly to southern California for the photo shoot, he didn't know what to expect. "I didn't know squat about him," Lego says. "All I really had to go by was that he was a dude that wore a werewolf mask and lived in a cave." What followed was a hallucinogenic journey through the rattlesnake-riddled home of the Cahuilla Indians, sipping a concoction made from homegrown marijuana and undisclosed herbal add-ons, and watching a then-47-year-old man abuse himself for a camera to demonstrate his Iron Palm prowess.

Ray Lego: My assistant and I flew in to California and they put us up in some super-nice hotel in Palm Springs—every time the wind blew you could smell the rosemary growing outside our window from one floor down to the next. We had everything ready and were just waiting and drinking margaritas at the pool floating around and having a good old time. I had no idea what I was going into.

The next day we get a call, and an Asian woman said, "Benny's ready. Meet at this place." It was a phone booth right outside an [Indian] reservation. We drove two hours through the [San Bernardino Mountains] to where she told us to go, she came down in a car and said, "Follow us."…It was desert with tumbleweeds blowing through, chicken wire, junk and car parts everywhere—it wasn't beautiful at all. You could see someone shooting a gun at a target in the background, there was a jeep with all the wheels off of it and it looked like it had rusted into the ground. We followed her into the Indian reservation and came to a beat-up ranch house, and out in the backyard was this fenced-off trail where illegal immigrants would come through to America.

Benny was waiting for us and he looked insane. He looked like the biggest person I'd ever seen, he had these black kung-fu-MC-Hammer pants on, these kung fu shoes, and a ripped-up white t-shirt. His hair was so black and his face was so muscular—even his jaw, everything. I remember him coming up to me and saying all this stuff like, "I know what you're going through. I can feel your pain."

Benny wasn't Indian. The reason why he was allowed on the reservation was because he healed one of the chiefs' daughters or something like that. He started telling me a story—and I have no idea if any of this was true—about how he'd heal AIDS patients, people with addiction, all sorts of stuff, with acupuncture, acupressure, and this medicinal potion, which was basically the pot he grew in the backyard mixed with grain alcohol, ginger, and herbs.

He must have had 100 jars of it, all lined up on a shelf over a bed on the floor with sheets hanging over the windows—the older the jar, the darker it got. We started drinking it and right off the bat it burned. I've had grain alcohol and super-proof liquor, but I thought this was some other chemical. The first one went down really hard and I almost lost my mind. But he's like, "You gotta drink a couple more." Benny had his own little gallon he was drinking like it was water, and he kept saying, "This is so important. This is part of it. You have to get in the right state of mind." After about three or four shots we started talking, and all of the sudden it was like, boom.

I almost felt like I was hallucinating, but not like mushrooms or acid. Everything went really quiet, I was really focused, and it was bizarre. I could hear people talking from the other room, everything was very bright—it was intense, but I enjoyed it. It wasn't scary. It could have easily had peyote in it, but I don't remember him saying anything because I would have been like, "Eh, no thanks." Peyote is like an all-day kind of thing and I had to work—kind of.

I don't think those guys had a car that was legal to drive, so I'm driving and Benny gets in right next to me, right in the center, and his assistant gets in on the passenger side with all the goodie bags—more potion, all these homemade energy drinks and weird concoctions in little Ball mason jars. I'm driving and I wasn't really worried—I didn't feel intoxicated at all. I've never felt more alive to drive. But my assistant was in the back babbling like a lunatic, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball.

We drove 45 minutes out to the waterfall where Benny cleanses himself and cleanses other people before going into his cave. It was part of this Iron Palm thing—he never said Iron Palm, but that's the only term I can come up with to describe what it was. It's a martial arts technique where you get a piece of wood, tap it on your hand for a day, then the next day you do it a little bit harder, the next day a little harder, until months down the road you can smash it against your hands, and you can do that all over your body—arms, chest, whatever. It builds up your bones and skins to be able to take and deliver punishing blows. That was the whole philosophy.

The water [from the waterfall] was coming down so hard and there was so much of it. He told me if I went underneath I probably wouldn't survive it—I wanted to do it, and he said, "Well you'd probably end up snapping your neck." But he jumps in and goes right under the waterfall, taking the full brunt of it, doing all martial art katas mixed in with werewolf poses. He stayed under there for about 20 minutes going in and out of it. I can hear the water hitting him and it sounded so violent. I was just waiting for him to fall down, but this guy is like a cinderblock. He's older, but he's so thick and stout and I don't think anything could have knocked him down.

We went to this little pond where the water would pool up, and Benny was saying how he could control his breath, stay submerged for a long time under water, sometimes almost drowning himself, taking water into his lungs, then expelling it and coming back to life. He started submerging himself—the first time he must have done it for about five minutes before he came back up. The second time he did it it must have been like 10 minutes. And the third time he did it, the Asian woman was standing on his chest, not letting him get back up—he said he knows his body can take it. He basically drowned and the Asian woman pulled him out of the water, and he brought himself back by just puking up the water.

You know how swimmers drown, let out a big cough of water, and come back to life? It was like that. It was insane. I think that's why I didn't even really take photos: I was so in awe of it all that I really wanted to enjoy the experience in real life instead of looking at it through glass. And it wasn't part of a script—he just did it.

Next we went to the cave, which was in the middle of a desert like you'd see in a movie with a rock formation, which was the cave, about half a mile in the background. As soon as we started walking through the desert, the rattlers started going off—rattlesnakes were everywhere and I kind of freaked out. And it was rattling like crazy everywhere we went, which meant the snake is threatened by us and could see us and is rattling to try to scare us away. And we were walking through it. I had flip-flops on.

When we got to the cave Benny told me stories about the nights he'd spend there, the peyote he would eat, how people would bring him stuff from town, and how he'd talk to the spirits. You'd go inside the cave and it opened to an auditorium type of thing where it almost looked like [a place] where a band would play. He said the spirits would sing to him, talk to him, and they'd chase him through the catacombs of rocks. He slept with a rock as his pillow, people would come bring him food, cases of beer—I remember him talking about the beer as one of his luxuries. He'd train at the cave, lifting rocks and doing spiritual types of things. He broke his ankle when he lived there, getting chased through the rocks by the spirits and stuff. Instead of going to the hospital, he'd heal it by walking through deep sand that he said was over 200 degrees and the heat from the sand would heal his ankle. I stuck my hand in the sand and I couldn't even keep it in for a second because it was so hot.

We went back to his house on the reservation, and we started drinking a lot more of the potion and talking about whether we were going to do the swinging ball shot. Benny really wanted to do it, and it was probably something I should have done. But hanging 220 pounds of weight from his balls while I took pictures of it just seemed very strange at the time. I've done a lot of crazy sex-type photos, but that just seemed too weird.

We started doing photos of the beating stick thing—this 180-spoke baton. It looks like a whisk, but it must have weighed 15 pounds. This goes back to the Iron Palm kind of thing where he could mentally tune out the pain and strengthen his body, his skin and bones through the constant pounding of this metal baton. We set up the camera, set up the lights, and he starts whacking himself like crazy, just beating every part of his body one after another, and just enjoying it. Every time he hits his skin with those spokes, I waited for his skin to slice open and start bleeding, but it never happened. He was doing it on his face, his neck, his balls, his legs, every part of his body. And it was almost like he was immune to it. I think the last shots of the day were the shots of him drinking the potion from the big jar with a chain whip on the table and stuff.

Benny was super nice, a really nice genuine person. He was super-mellow. He did crazy things, but he was so level and down to earth. He was just living life on his own terms. Sometimes you get really big and think, "This sucks, I don't want the fame," but he never really got huge. He wasn't like Schwarzenegger: he was always on the fringe. Right now, he could probably come back and do something pretty crazy.

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man

There's a glimpse of Benny Podda in the ESPN documentary about the rise and fall of Todd Marinovich: "martial artist Benny Podda," the voiceover says, was a coach for the former Raiders quarterback. Podda also trained Chuck Norris and made a cameo in one of his movies. A Pennsylvania-born bodybuilder who won a National Physique Committee championship along with a smattering of other titles, Podda was eccentric even in a world of weirdoes: he allegedly robbed a pharmacy for painkillers using a bow and arrow, posed for bodybuilding competitions wearing a werewolf mask, spurted blood out of his nose on command, and could dangle more than 200 pounds from his testicles. He once hung himself from a noose at a bodybuilding show in Newark, New Jersey; swayed for five minutes; then opened his eyes and gave the audience the finger. An aside in the Los Angeles Times says he studied martial arts in China for five years, and he claimed to have traveled to China to compete in (and win) martial arts tournaments that took place on tabletops.

That Marinovich footage was taken during what was probably Podda's last stint in society. A celebrity who checked out before the age of Google to live in a cave and treat the sick and desperate on an Indian reservation, Podda doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. His whereabouts today are unclear. Nearly every second-hand word about his legend comes from a November 2004 feature in Men's Fitness . When photographer Ray Lego got the call to fly to southern California for the photo shoot, he didn't know what to expect. "I didn't know squat about him," Lego says. "All I really had to go by was that he was a dude that wore a werewolf mask and lived in a cave." What followed was a hallucinogenic journey through the rattlesnake-riddled home of the Cahuilla Indians, sipping a concoction made from homegrown marijuana and undisclosed herbal add-ons, and watching a then-47-year-old man abuse himself for a camera to demonstrate his Iron Palm prowess.

Ray Lego: My assistant and I flew in to California and they put us up in some super-nice hotel in Palm Springs—every time the wind blew you could smell the rosemary growing outside our window from one floor down to the next. We had everything ready and were just waiting and drinking margaritas at the pool floating around and having a good old time. I had no idea what I was going into.

The next day we get a call, and an Asian woman said, "Benny's ready. Meet at this place." It was a phone booth right outside an [Indian] reservation. We drove two hours through the [San Bernardino Mountains] to where she told us to go, she came down in a car and said, "Follow us."…It was desert with tumbleweeds blowing through, chicken wire, junk and car parts everywhere—it wasn't beautiful at all. You could see someone shooting a gun at a target in the background, there was a jeep with all the wheels off of it and it looked like it had rusted into the ground. We followed her into the Indian reservation and came to a beat-up ranch house, and out in the backyard was this fenced-off trail where illegal immigrants would come through to America.

Benny was waiting for us and he looked insane. He looked like the biggest person I'd ever seen, he had these black kung-fu-MC-Hammer pants on, these kung fu shoes, and a ripped-up white t-shirt. His hair was so black and his face was so muscular—even his jaw, everything. I remember him coming up to me and saying all this stuff like, "I know what you're going through. I can feel your pain."

Benny wasn't Indian. The reason why he was allowed on the reservation was because he healed one of the chiefs' daughters or something like that. He started telling me a story—and I have no idea if any of this was true—about how he'd heal AIDS patients, people with addiction, all sorts of stuff, with acupuncture, acupressure, and this medicinal potion, which was basically the pot he grew in the backyard mixed with grain alcohol, ginger, and herbs.

He must have had 100 jars of it, all lined up on a shelf over a bed on the floor with sheets hanging over the windows—the older the jar, the darker it got. We started drinking it and right off the bat it burned. I've had grain alcohol and super-proof liquor, but I thought this was some other chemical. The first one went down really hard and I almost lost my mind. But he's like, "You gotta drink a couple more." Benny had his own little gallon he was drinking like it was water, and he kept saying, "This is so important. This is part of it. You have to get in the right state of mind." After about three or four shots we started talking, and all of the sudden it was like, boom.

I almost felt like I was hallucinating, but not like mushrooms or acid. Everything went really quiet, I was really focused, and it was bizarre. I could hear people talking from the other room, everything was very bright—it was intense, but I enjoyed it. It wasn't scary. It could have easily had peyote in it, but I don't remember him saying anything because I would have been like, "Eh, no thanks." Peyote is like an all-day kind of thing and I had to work—kind of.

I don't think those guys had a car that was legal to drive, so I'm driving and Benny gets in right next to me, right in the center, and his assistant gets in on the passenger side with all the goodie bags—more potion, all these homemade energy drinks and weird concoctions in little Ball mason jars. I'm driving and I wasn't really worried—I didn't feel intoxicated at all. I've never felt more alive to drive. But my assistant was in the back babbling like a lunatic, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball.

We drove 45 minutes out to the waterfall where Benny cleanses himself and cleanses other people before going into his cave. It was part of this Iron Palm thing—he never said Iron Palm, but that's the only term I can come up with to describe what it was. It's a martial arts technique where you get a piece of wood, tap it on your hand for a day, then the next day you do it a little bit harder, the next day a little harder, until months down the road you can smash it against your hands, and you can do that all over your body—arms, chest, whatever. It builds up your bones and skins to be able to take and deliver punishing blows. That was the whole philosophy.

The water [from the waterfall] was coming down so hard and there was so much of it. He told me if I went underneath I probably wouldn't survive it—I wanted to do it, and he said, "Well you'd probably end up snapping your neck." But he jumps in and goes right under the waterfall, taking the full brunt of it, doing all martial art katas mixed in with werewolf poses. He stayed under there for about 20 minutes going in and out of it. I can hear the water hitting him and it sounded so violent. I was just waiting for him to fall down, but this guy is like a cinderblock. He's older, but he's so thick and stout and I don't think anything could have knocked him down.

We went to this little pond where the water would pool up, and Benny was saying how he could control his breath, stay submerged for a long time under water, sometimes almost drowning himself, taking water into his lungs, then expelling it and coming back to life. He started submerging himself—the first time he must have done it for about five minutes before he came back up. The second time he did it it must have been like 10 minutes. And the third time he did it, the Asian woman was standing on his chest, not letting him get back up—he said he knows his body can take it. He basically drowned and the Asian woman pulled him out of the water, and he brought himself back by just puking up the water.

You know how swimmers drown, let out a big cough of water, and come back to life? It was like that. It was insane. I think that's why I didn't even really take photos: I was so in awe of it all that I really wanted to enjoy the experience in real life instead of looking at it through glass. And it wasn't part of a script—he just did it.

Next we went to the cave, which was in the middle of a desert like you'd see in a movie with a rock formation, which was the cave, about half a mile in the background. As soon as we started walking through the desert, the rattlers started going off—rattlesnakes were everywhere and I kind of freaked out. And it was rattling like crazy everywhere we went, which meant the snake is threatened by us and could see us and is rattling to try to scare us away. And we were walking through it. I had flip-flops on.

When we got to the cave Benny told me stories about the nights he'd spend there, the peyote he would eat, how people would bring him stuff from town, and how he'd talk to the spirits. You'd go inside the cave and it opened to an auditorium type of thing where it almost looked like [a place] where a band would play. He said the spirits would sing to him, talk to him, and they'd chase him through the catacombs of rocks. He slept with a rock as his pillow, people would come bring him food, cases of beer—I remember him talking about the beer as one of his luxuries. He'd train at the cave, lifting rocks and doing spiritual types of things. He broke his ankle when he lived there, getting chased through the rocks by the spirits and stuff. Instead of going to the hospital, he'd heal it by walking through deep sand that he said was over 200 degrees and the heat from the sand would heal his ankle. I stuck my hand in the sand and I couldn't even keep it in for a second because it was so hot.

We went back to his house on the reservation, and we started drinking a lot more of the potion and talking about whether we were going to do the swinging ball shot. Benny really wanted to do it, and it was probably something I should have done. But hanging 220 pounds of weight from his balls while I took pictures of it just seemed very strange at the time. I've done a lot of crazy sex-type photos, but that just seemed too weird.

We started doing photos of the beating stick thing—this 180-spoke baton. It looks like a whisk, but it must have weighed 15 pounds. This goes back to the Iron Palm kind of thing where he could mentally tune out the pain and strengthen his body, his skin and bones through the constant pounding of this metal baton. We set up the camera, set up the lights, and he starts whacking himself like crazy, just beating every part of his body one after another, and just enjoying it. Every time he hits his skin with those spokes, I waited for his skin to slice open and start bleeding, but it never happened. He was doing it on his face, his neck, his balls, his legs, every part of his body. And it was almost like he was immune to it. I think the last shots of the day were the shots of him drinking the potion from the big jar with a chain whip on the table and stuff.

Benny was super nice, a really nice genuine person. He was super-mellow. He did crazy things, but he was so level and down to earth. He was just living life on his own terms. Sometimes you get really big and think, "This sucks, I don't want the fame," but he never really got huge. He wasn't like Schwarzenegger: he was always on the fringe. Right now, he could probably come back and do something pretty crazy.

Photographing Benny Podda, the Bodybuilder Turned Martial Artist Turned Cave-Dwelling Medicine Man published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv