[Standing in at 5’11 and 1** pounds (the last two digits are always excluded), Kris Kidd is an undeniable powerhouse. His freckled face resembles that of someone youthful, but his eyes are dark— hollowed out by something unforeseen. His left hand holds a cigarette or a mixed drink in haphazard intervals, but you’ll be hard pressed to find his right hand clutching anything but his iPhone. He is the American youth as seen through a funhouse mirror— fractured and disjointed. Almost caricature-like in his mannerisms, he is either the most brutally honest, or the most frighteningly comedic depiction of the current generation that has been seen yet.]
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| © Katherine Hogan |
[His collaboration with The Altar Collective seemed about as organic as the food he writes about purging. We were looking for a project that would branch out from our current collection of poetry and prose, and he was looking for an outlet through which he could complain. The bond was as natural and immediate. The collaboration, entitled I Can’t Feel My Face, is a no-holds-barred descent into emptiness, excess, and exasperation. His essays are a half-hearted commentary on a generation of instant gratification, as told by a narrator who is all too gratified, and is nonetheless ungrateful.]
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| © Katherine Hogan |
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| Photo © Brad Elterman |
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