Rebel heart, restless feet, ink-stained fingers.
A devoted father first his daughters, they are his true north. Duane rides through life on a motorcycle built of sarcasm, sincerity, and stubborn independence. A blunt smoking philosopher on two wheels, a guy who codes his own Linux setup, reshapes Substack into a confessional booth with a skyline view, and writes like Kerouac got punched by Bukowski then hugged by Chomsky. If it’s full of noise, he’ll cut through it. If it’s full of shit, he’ll call it out.
With photography as his witness and writing as his weapon, he captures life raw. Political absurdities, personal redemption, and everything in between. Duane doesn’t seek safety nets; he climbs fire escapes. And though he fiercely dismantles the noise of the world, he’s still quietly piecing together parts of himself. Blunt yet poetic, restless yet reflective, he’s constantly rewriting the rules. Because we should.
Shouldn’t we?