“Up high in the red rock mountains
Almost lost my mind
I be out where the black birds hang
Circle around them skies
Can't wait much longer
Yeah it's my time
You'll never find another like me
I'm the last of my kind”

– Last of My Kind by Shaboozey

A slender, aged man, sporting a Jay Leno chin, wild, graying hair and a slightly bent back, eases his way forward under the lights that are there to greet him. Kept steady by his old, trusty hiking pole, he walks center stage up to his old, trusty friend: a microphone.

Looking dapper in his exquisite Steve Jobs' code of black everything – except for his derivation of brown, Vasque hiking boots for this once proud backcountry man – along with a fancy tie thrown in for the sake of some chroma, he deliberately takes his time adjusting the mic stand while squinting through the lights, expertly scanning the room. He is a natural-born entertainer who lives to entrance his audiences with the age-old art of verbal storytelling, through the manipulation of his audience's thoughts and beliefs, and he wanted a peek at who this evening's victims participants would be, before he made their heads spin and their sides split.

As he starts to speak, his calming baritone sneakily gains the audience’s trust, weaving his storytelling spells though his slightly-Southern, yet well-traveled accent, thickened with a slice or two of true Mississippi mud and a pinch or five of Cajun cayenne in his roux that all comes out as a spicy gumbo of self-effacing, creative verbosity – there have been unverified rumors that his sarcasm and humor has caused Barq's-in-a-bottle to exit a nostril or two in his presence – that he begins to deliver through a wide, deceptive grin (stifling a naughty, Despicable Me chuckle) as he entices his guests to follow him through the wild twists and turns of tonight’s rabbit holes they would soon jointly explore:

"Good evening everyone. Let me introduce myself.

“My name is Kenny Geraud Dubuisson, Jr., and I am a gregarious, crazy Cajun raised in and on the swamps and bayous that feed our gorgeous Gulf of Mexico, which in turn feeds us from those same sun-drenched, sand-dune'd waters along the magical Mississippi Gulf Coast, a true, hidden jewel in this country that I sincerely hope none of you ever visit [insert Jedi hand-wave, here]. Well, except for Cruisin' the Coast, which is just badass.

“Long ago an audio and computer engineer – even being good at it once or twice, if my declining memory serves me correctly – I walked away from my geeky past awhile back and took off on an all-encompassing artistic journey, driving tens-of-thousands of miles all around this country, solo camping up in the mountains of Montana and runnin' the rigs by myself down in the Gulf, taking twenty-thousand photos here and there, gathering hundreds of ideas from left and right, writing a ton about this and that, jamming a bit in my studio from time to time, and voraciously reading everything in between.

“Which means I have now completed the hard research necessary to qualify for something I am quite proud to say that I was just recently offered, a position of perfection for me that I accepted at once:

“I am the newly ordained King of Commas, Chair of The Department of Redundancy Department, a department in the renowned KennyD Center for the Disturbing Arts, located in heavenly Pass Christian, Mississippi, less than two miles from the healing waters of the Gulf of Mexico. And my hero, Samuel Langhorne Clemens (a.k.a. Mark Twain), was quite presentiment of who I am when he wrote about being French in his fictional, non-fiction book, published in 1880 – the printing delayed while he rode an Alpine glacier back to his hotel (slow, for sure, but a lot less strenuous than hiking) – where Mr. Clemens/Twain so perfectly described me 85-years before I was born:

"’I found the brave fellow steeped in a profound French calm. I say French calm, because French calmness and English calmness have points of difference. He was moving swiftly back and forth among the debris of his furniture, now and then staving chance fragments of it across the room with his foot; grinding a constant grist of curses through his set teeth; and halting every little while to deposit another handful of his hair on the pile which he had been building of it on the table.’

– A Tramp Abroad by Mark Twain

“Now, tonight’s subject shall surely make your gray matter jump and jive, so, let’s hike right into my imaginary backcountry … look, a cute rabbit just jumped into that hole … let’s follow and see what interesting things he’s up to …”

“Let the Sun shine
Let the sunshine in
Oh, let it shine”

– Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In by The Fifth Dimension

It’s the dawning of this Aquarius and I sincerely hope you are entertained by my wide array of artistic voices and endeavors presented on this website, as there is a lot of heart and creative energy inside that I put years of work into collecting and creating and forming, literally donating blood, sweat and tears to produce the art within. As everything on this site is me, being completely me, just wanting to be a respected talent sharing a soul-filling journey of artistic discovery. I hope you enjoy following my exploration of creative verbosity.

Lastly, please feel free to share any episodes of Soda-Powered Nasal Propulsion that you may experience while reading some of my more intense stories – like my dramatic re-living of a, uh, “bathing-episode” in a glacier run-off in Wyoming on my 63-day, solo, 2012 Rocky Mountain Camping Trip – as I’m working on my dissertation, currently titled, How the Cajun Art of Bullshitting will Save the World.

Blue skies

Kenny

"I wanna rock and roll this party
I still wanna have some fun
I wanna leave you feeling breathless
Show you how the west was won
But I gotta fly"

– Steve McQueen by Sheryl Crow