Noise From The Pit

09/05/2026

There was a very specific moment in the late 90s when music, skate culture, motocross, MTV, and complete disregard for personal safety all somehow became the same thing. 😂

And honestly… it was glorious.

In 1997, Deftones released Around the Fur, and “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” was one of those songs that made you realize this band was doing something different.

Yeah, they were heavy.

But underneath those crushing riffs was something dreamy, atmospheric, almost beautiful. While a lot of bands were leaning harder into the aggression of nu metal, Deftones were already building this strange little universe where metal, alternative rock, shoegaze, melody, and emotion could all live in the same room.

Then came the 1998 MTV Sports & Music Festival in Jacksonville.

Because apparently just having Deftones perform wasn’t enough.

So while the band is absolutely tearing through “Be Quiet and Drive,” Brian Deegan and members of the Metal Mulisha are launching motorcycles off massive jumps directly behind the stage.

Just read that sentence again.

Deftones.

Live.

Motorcycles flying through the air behind them.

MTV executives in 1998 apparently woke up every morning and asked, “How can we make this more dangerous?”

And somehow it worked.

Looking back, the whole thing feels like a perfect snapshot of that era. Music and action sports weren’t separate worlds yet. They shared the same clothes, the same attitude, the same VHS tapes, the same Warped Tour parking lots, and probably the same questionable decision-making.

And right in the middle of it was Deftones becoming something much bigger than just another heavy band.

More than 25 years later, “Be Quiet and Drive” still sounds like nobody else.

Some songs age.

Some songs become landmarks.

This one became both.

09/05/2026

There are movie endings that wrap up a story… and then there are endings that stay with you long after the screen goes black.

The Dark Knight Rises has always been one of those for me.

Bruce Wayne spends three movies carrying Gotham on his shoulders. He loses people he loves, destroys his own reputation, gets broken physically and emotionally, and keeps getting back up because somebody has to stand between the city and the darkness.

Then Gotham needs him one last time.

Talia al Ghul’s bomb is counting down. Batman hooks it to The Bat and flies it away from the city while everyone watches, believing they’re witnessing his final sacrifice.

Gotham survives.

Bruce Wayne is mourned.

The symbol becomes bigger than the man.

And if the movie ended there, it still would’ve worked.

But Nolan gives us a few more minutes.

Lucius discovers Bruce had repaired the autopilot months earlier.

Alfred returns to that little café in Florence where he once told Bruce about a dream he had. A dream where one day he’d look across the room and see Bruce alive, happy, and finally free from Gotham.

Then Alfred looks up.

There he is.

Bruce.

Selina beside him.

No Batman. No cape. No war.

Just a man who finally allowed himself to live.

Meanwhile, John Blake follows the coordinates Bruce left behind and discovers the Batcave. The platform begins to rise.

And suddenly you realize Batman didn’t disappear.

Bruce Wayne simply stopped needing to be Batman.

That’s why this ending works so damn well.

It isn’t really about whether Batman survived a bomb.

It’s about knowing when a chapter of your life has done what it was supposed to do.

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do isn’t keep carrying the weight.

Sometimes it’s put it down.

Let the symbol, the lessons, and the people you helped carry forward what you started…

and finally go live the life you almost forgot you were allowed to have.

That final shot of Alfred quietly smiling across that café still gets me every single time.

A perfect ending to one hell of a trilogy.

🎬 The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Director: Christopher Nolan
Music: Hans Zimmer

09/05/2026

There are songs you remember.

And then there are songs that somehow remember you.

“She Talks to Angels” by The Black Crowes has always been one of those songs for me.

Before Chris Robinson even sings a word, those opening chords already feel like they’re telling you something. There’s sadness in them, beauty in them, and somehow a whole story before the lyrics ever begin.

What makes it even crazier is that Rich Robinson wrote that guitar part when he was only 15, while experimenting with open tunings. Something written by a kid became one of the most recognizable acoustic intros of the 90s.

The song itself is beautiful, but it’s also heavy. It tells the story of a woman carrying pain, addiction, loneliness, and things most people around her probably never fully understood.

But for me, the song has another layer.

It reminds me of my sister.

I can still hear her sitting there with a guitar, playing this song and singing it.

And when those first chords come through the speakers, sometimes I’m not really hearing The Black Crowes anymore.

I’m hearing her.

I’m remembering little moments that probably didn’t seem important at the time, but ended up becoming part of who I am.

Her music. Her personality. The things she introduced me to. The influence she had on the way I hear music, tell stories, and experience the world.

That’s one of the strangest things about grief.

The people we lose have a way of showing back up.

In photographs.

In places.

In smells.

In a guitar riff you haven’t heard in years.

And suddenly, for a few minutes, they’re right there again.

So yeah, “She Talks to Angels” is a beautiful song.

But when I hear those opening chords, I hear my sister too.

And that makes it more than a song to me.

It’s a memory I can still press play on.

09/04/2026

Back in 2000, MTV handed Adam Sandler a camera and a microphone to promote Little Nicky, and somehow we ended up with one of the coolest and most random moments of the entire nu metal era.

Chino Moreno from Deftones and Brandon Boyd from Incubus are sitting on a couch turning “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” into this stripped-down acoustic version.

And sitting right there with them, wearing giant shorts and casually playing rhythm guitar, is Adam freaking Sandler.

Happy Gilmore. Billy Madison. The Waterboy.

Just sitting there jamming with Chino and Brandon Boyd like this was a completely normal Tuesday.

No big production. No trying too hard. Just three guys playing music and one of those strange little moments that perfectly captures what the late 90s and early 2000s felt like.

Comedy, alternative rock, nu metal, MTV, and absolute chaos somehow all existed in the same universe.

This feels like something somebody would make up until you actually see the footage.

Man, I miss this era.

09/03/2026

There’s a scene in Fight Club that hits completely different for me these days.

Tyler Durden is holding the Narrator, played by Ed Norton, through one of the most painful moments of his life. His hand is being chemically burned and every instinct in him is screaming to escape. He tries to mentally check out, but Tyler won’t let him.

He makes him stay there.

Feel it.

Face it.

And then comes that line:

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

I understand that differently now because I’ve watched so much of the life I once knew disappear.

Both of my parents are dead.

My brother is dead.

My sister is dead.

A lot of really good friends are gone too.

Then addiction came for its share.

I lost years. Relationships changed. My finances fell apart. My career got flipped upside down. Now even my housing situation is uncertain.

There have been moments where I’ve looked around and thought, How the hell did my life get here?

But I’m beginning to understand something.

Losing everything and having nothing left to live for are not the same thing.

I’m still here.

I have another day sober.

I have my faith.

I have people I love.

I have places I still want to see, photographs I want to make, stories I want to tell and people I want to help.

And I still have the opportunity to become someone different than the man I used to be.

I’m not going to romanticize addiction or grief. Some losses don’t come with a beautiful lesson.

Sometimes they just friggin hurt.

But losing so much has forced me to figure out what actually matters.

I’m not trying to rebuild my old life anymore.

That life is gone.

I’m building the next one.

One day at a time.

One sober decision at a time.

One prayer at a time.

Maybe that’s what this quote means to me now.

Not, “I lost everything, so nothing matters.”

But:

“I survived losing almost everything, and now I finally know what does matter.”

I don’t know exactly what the next chapter looks like.

But I don’t need it to look like the chapters that came before it.

God is doing a new thing

09/02/2026

Nine Inch Nails performing “Hurt” at Woodstock 94.
This one hits different when you’ve actually lived some of it.

“Hurt” has always felt brutally honest to me because it isn’t just about addiction. It’s about shame, numbness, regret, and looking around at the wreckage of your own life wondering how you got there.

I know that place.

There was a time when I looked completely normal on the outside while privately fighting a battle that was destroying me. Addiction lets you live two lives at once. The person everybody sees, and the person you’re desperately trying to hide.

Recovery taught me that you don’t get to go back and rewrite your life. You have to rebuild the one you actually have.

And rebuilding is hard. It means honesty. Apologies. Consequences. Facing people you hurt. Keeping promises when nobody is watching.

But that’s also where freedom starts.

One decision at a time. One day at a time.

Eventually you stop being someone constantly trying not to use and become someone who genuinely doesn’t want that life anymore.

My past didn’t disappear when I got sober. But God has been redeeming it.

The pain, mistakes, addiction, and shame can become something useful when you turn around and help somebody walking a few steps behind you.

Your worst chapter doesn’t have to be your last chapter.

2 Corinthians 5:17

08/31/2026

08/27/2026

😎

Hey Everyone! ✌🏿 & ♥️

08/25/2026

There are some photographs that stop being just photographs and become pieces of history.

I just heard the news that Dolly Parton has passed away.

I took this photo at SXSW in 2022 at ACL Live at the Moody Theater, where Dolly was sitting down with author James Patterson during the release of Run, Rose, Run.

At the time, I was simply grateful to be there with a camera in my hands, witnessing one of those moments you know is special.

Today, this photograph feels completely different.

Dolly was bigger than country music. She was a songwriter, storyteller, philanthropist, businesswoman, woman of faith, and one of those rare people who somehow seemed to belong to everybody. Generations grew up with her voice, her humor, her songs, and that unmistakable personality.

As a photographer, you never really know which moments you capture will become part of the historical record someday.

I’m incredibly grateful I got to capture this one.

Rest well, Dolly.

Thank you for the songs, the stories, the laughter, the generosity, and for reminding the world that you could come from almost nothing and still give so much back.

What a life. What a legacy.

📸 Photo by Tracy Ryan Fuller
SXSW 2022 | ACL Live at the Moody Theater | Austin, Texas

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Matthew 25:23