Trees in Pier Park, Portland, Ore.

Why not just write it how I think? It doesn’t necessarily mean something full of typos that makes no sense, just free from the restrictive formatting into which I try to force my thought process.

Of the many things I learned in my university studies — graphic design, photography, and most recently, communication — is that we have three basic forms of language. Spoken language, written language and the language of thought; translating one to the other always changed the idea or information.

Sometimes it enhances it, makes it more clear; other times it makes it stilted or through a…

My mood had been dark lately with the global pandemic, the bullshit of Portland Police and some professional realizations I’ve made. It wasn’t a healthy sort of darkness that is a process of introspection, no, it wasn’t healthy.

This is a basic way to describe my ideal aesthetic: Swiss ideas of design — precision, grid, conveying detailed information — mixed with Lomography — no rules, speed, passing visually interesting moment — play on each other.

I’ve always had a deft hand and design-focused eye, but I let that go by the wayside in my late twenties when I thought I…

There are two Americas, the actual one that is leaning more to the right toward a polite version of fascism and the America in legend, in movies. For now, we’re only concerned with the latter version.

The United States of vast expanse, of two-lane desert highways, of reverb rock bands, of high-speed — the America that used to invent things, that put men on the moon, that America is still strong and still the image of hope and cool all around the globe. The America where Burning Man happens, where rock and roll was invented, where speed was born. The…

AUSTIN, Texas — I went to Boca Raton, Fla., to play dominos in mid August 2012. I learned a basic or perhaps a simplified version of the game, which proved to be enough to have a few games with June and Jack. I returned to Austin a couple of days before heading west through New Mexico, Colorado, Utah and Nevada on the way to Burning Man.

Slumped in his patriarchal chair facing a flower arrangement and the dining room wall, Jack couldn’t grasp the basic concepts of where to place the dominos and the idea of the game continuing in…

One day he did it, he jettisoned the wings, which had become a heavy burden.

He learned the ways of land-based bipeds and spent many a happy day walking upright among the humans. He learned to speak like a human, but with a hawk accent.

Not long had passed before he began to deeply regret casting away the gift of flight. His scapulae had reformed to be used with human arms, his talons were deformed from human shoes. He regretted filling his days with a cubicle, meetings, appointments, wearing a reminder of burdened time on his human arm. …

Writing to the younger Brian about what it’s like to be city cyclist and photographer/artist in New York compared to 2020, during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Early one morning about 10 or 12 years ago in Morningside Heights in Manhattan, I rose with the calm of an early autumn morning and rode my bike slowly down Broadway toward City Hall. From there I made my way to the Brooklyn Bridge en route to my room above a hardware store in Crown Heights — it had a window overlooking a yard through blue curtains, guarded by Angry Squirrel, who lived on the…

Brian McGloin

I'm immortal and I will take over the world. Burner, photographer, bike rider, adventurer, grouchy.

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