Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die: A Las Vegas Photo Essay
Snapshots of my life in the entertainment capital of the world
I’ve always been fascinated by photography, but I didn’t really start picking it up and taking it “seriously” (however you want to define that) until a tragic mass shooting hit the University of Las Vegas on December 6, 2023. It became instrumental to my healing process, allowing me to view the city through a new lens and deepening my appreciation for it.
I was looking through some pictures I took a few months ago and thought it would be a good idea to share them here and briefly discuss the stories behind them. Despite the nagging voice in my head (gotta love impostor syndrome) telling me that these suck, I have no clue what I’m doing, and that I’m a perpetual newb and a shitty photographer, I’m proud of my growth and how far I’ve come, I want to continue pushing myself and learn everything I can about the craft, with this essay being an extension of that.
Atomic Liquors on 10th and Fremont Street in the heart of Downtown Las Vegas, has been the site of many memorable nights. During graduate school, the English program would hold monthly “Neon Lit” readings where creative writing students performed works of nonfiction, fiction, and poetry. I even had the opportunity to present my incoherent ramblings in front of a public audience. Afterward, we would congregate at Atomic and, over plenty of drinks, talk about everything and nothing.
The late, great Hunter S. Thompson also hung out here as he covered local events: what I would give to be a fly on the wall during that time. The bar has a “Hunter S. Mash” drink named after him, a fitting tribute. The fact that a new generation of writers comes together in the same place that a legendary artist did is indicative of Atomic’s distinct history in the tapestry that is Las Vegas.
In October 2024, I went to a candlelight vigil at Sunset Park in remembrance of the horrific genocide committed against the Palestinian people.
Children’s shoes lined up next to a “dead” body wrapped in cloth decorated the memorial. One of my main research interests is philosophy, with Julia Kristeva being a figure whose work I’ve turned to for inspiration. In her landmark 1980 book Powers of Horror, she outlines her concept of abjection. In the first chapter, she writes about visiting the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum and seeing a “heap of children’s shoes…under a Christmas tree;” I couldn’t help but recall that passage in this surreal moment of theory and life intertwining themselves.
Also, in October, my boyfriend and I attended a 10th-anniversary celebration of the Writer’s Block bookstore at The Beverly Theater, conveniently located right next door (I love the fact that two of my favorite independent businesses are in such close proximity to one another). Before the reading and discussion by André Aciman, there was an informal mixer held in the courtyard outside.
I, of course, brought my camera to capture the occasion, and while taking some test shots, I got this photo of my friend Madison. Something about it just speaks to me: dressed in stylish goth attire, surveying the scene: the possibilities are endless.
Avantpop Books, owned by the lovely couple Sugar and Shwa Laytart, unfortunately, closed its doors in December (seriously, fuck capitalism: if you would like to donate to their GoFundMe and help support their attempts to find a new storefront, you can do so here) was one of my go-to spots in Las Vegas. A haven for lovers of everything cult and underground, they stocked a wide selection of books from authors known for subversive writing, like John Waters and William S. Burroughs.
Waters’ creative output: a constant in my life from a young age and my first introduction to the LGBTQIA+ community. His films (my personal favorites are Polyester and Pink Flamingos, but they change often) motivate me to find solace in what makes me unique and to face the chaos of the world with boldness and courage, despite how difficult it is.
Compared to many of my peers, I’m a relative latecomer to Burroughs’ writing. Sheltered in my K-12 years, when I eventually started college, a whole new world presented itself to me. A fervent period of literary discovery, I stumbled upon Burroughs’ 1953 novel Junkie, which left me completely transformed: I never read something like it before.
I reside in Henderson, a largely suburban area in the southeast. One of the colleges I teach at, Nevada State University, is about a 5-minute drive from a stretch of road called Boulder Highway, which later connects to Fremont Street.
I don’t have the luxury of doing this often, but when my schedule permits, I like to take a leisurely ride in my 2012 rusting silver Toyota Camry and photograph the old motels and RV parks that line the road. These symbols of deterioration and the ravages of time remind me of how underappreciated and fleeting so many aspects of the world are: what was once thriving is now forgotten.
Too fast to die young and hard so they look at them both from dichotomy