Lord Banthorpe III Court Of Tiberius chadwick tyler
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Why am I doing this? Chadwick and I reached out and touched across oceans while the world was still young and stable. We run, ride, and shoot. Not always together, not always apart. Our story is in the dust of our horses hooves.

Again, why am I doing this? I care not for sychophantic diatribes listing the ever-growing greatness of Admiral Tyler. He takes great pictures, and knows just how much of the world is a joke - and that is that, as you say in the U.S of A 'period'.

Maybe I should relate my tale. It's awkward and something I'm not accustomed to, but I'll try. Let me outline Lord Banthorpe the Third for you:

Born at once of the country and of the city I was raised in a violent portside town. Becoming an accomplished bar brawler between the ages of 12 and 20, I approached 21 with bloodstained shoes and the realisation of beauty in all things. Life adjusted accordingly.
Leaving the port to hitchhike around the wild island nation, I recited the names of every artist in existence since 1953 and settled in London - Capital of the World - on completion. And there the story could have very easily ended, but, disappointed with the lack of big game and rising coffee prices I moved the Capital of the World to Valletta, Malta. And there it remains.
Dedicating a life to building towers of Babel from paper and film has garnered criticism in equal measures, but neither are of importance. Dwelling on a mobius strip of taste where all meets all, I have been joined by Mr Tyler and our sails are full.
Chaos shall ensue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Does Chadwick Tyler Like Dirt?

So there's a box on a rooftop in New York, inside there is a hirstute Floridian, he's accompanied by a series of girls, girls that intrigue, that incite, that demand a reaction regardless. That is what's going on.

I like Chadwick Tyler, a potty mouth wielding a fixed fifty capturing the way forward. I'm not interested in what you think, the girls he champions are from the horizon - future gold, and if not that, then they're those that reside in the eye of the storm. Unique powers all of them, conventional sucks, conventional is covered in dust, conventional is convention.

I guess I should declare an interest. Far from an objective commentator, I stand partisan, universally biased toward the Tyler aesthetic. I wilfully admit to accusations of furthering this strange breed of kerbside glamour, and as with any extreme, beauty is so often at it's pinnacle in imperfection. Add to this my Britishness - grey skies, cups of tea, warmongering, loyal like a dog, a big dog, a big dog from Saville row. Add to the adding that Chadwick Tyler is my friend, exactly that.

What you're getting here is raw. A man, a lens, six feet of electricity, and wild horses. The beauty in setting something free is just that. Editorial demands, commercial concerns, all that numerology has just been switched off - and you remain, redundant.

So enjoy it. There's a guilty pleasure to be got from suffering what's thrown at you. And here it is. A man in leather boots lifting up his shirt to bear his chest. One arm is outstretched and he's sticking out his tongue, and all this leads us to Tiberius.