Hands on feet
I should be in bed right now, but I had a request for photos of Sutekh today, and do you see me wearing a "No Fucking Requests" t-shirt? No, you don't. Of course, that's because in cyberspace, no one can see what you're wearing (unless of course, you have a webcam, and mine is disconnected). But that's not the point; here at chez philblog we honor all reasonable requests, especially when they come from the good folk in our home town of Portland, Oregon, where rain breeds a solidarity the likes of which those easygoing Equatorial types can never hope to imagine.
So, yeah. Sutekh in Mexico City. And a rocking set it was, at that. Skippy like peanut butter. Loopy like jumprope. And enough bass to make the amoebas in yr tummy dance like dervishes. These photos were taken right before Seth disintegrated in the spray of some cosmic, Aztec particle beam. Nobody saw that coming. Well, you know what they say, pixels to pixels, and all that.