Burning Man - StuckInCustoms.com

Trey Ratcliff

I'm a warm-hearted, old-school gentleman explorer with really cool toys. INTJ. Browncoat.
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The metal kimodo neck bends skyward.  There is only one sound.  It is the sound of a hundred trunk-thick ropes holding back a moored ship.  They rub and tear against one another, the braids and coils tearing free and pulled back into the spiral.  The ropes scream like iron pulled apart by a furnace, and they burn like a soul reaching back for the earth.  Fire from the kimodo rests within and the broiling sea churns and twists beneath the hull.  The head bends back towards the earth, a new tension building in its dire armor.  It tears through the sky for something new to devour.  A heat shimmers from its scalloped visage, a heat that melts the heart of all that pass before.

The metal kimodo neck bends skyward. There is only one sound. It is the sound of a hundred trunk-thick ropes holding back a moored ship. They rub and tear against one another, the braids and coils tearing free and pulled back into the spiral. The ropes scream like iron pulled apart by a furnace, and they burn like a soul reaching back for the earth. Fire from the kimodo rests within and the broiling sea churns and twists beneath the hull. The head bends back towards the earth, a new tension building in its dire armor. It tears through the sky for something new to devour. A heat shimmers from its scalloped visage, a heat that melts the heart of all that pass before.

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