Shiney- An Imperfect Circle
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-An Imperfect Circle,
ArtCar Rally around Loop 610
-SHINEY,
ArtCar Scavenger Hunt.
The meet up location will be announced closer to the event !
They say we used to have wings.
Not the polished, museum kind—no, ours were ragged, clever, oil-slick black. We were free-range crows once, the kind that knew every rooftop, every shortcut, you know as the crow flies. We collected the world in fragments: a lost earring, a chrome bolt, a candy wrapper that caught the sun just right. Treasure wasn’t about value—it was about shine.
We didn’t walk. We hopped. Sideways, forward, for no apparent reason except that movement felt good and the street belonged to us. And when we saw each other?
We screamed and horned like crazy.
Not politely. Not quietly. Full-throated, joyfully unhinged screams that echoed off buildings and startled dogs and made humans look up from their small, glowing rectangles. That was our language. That was connection.
Then something changed.
Maybe it was the city permits. Maybe it was the rules, the lawsuits, the diagrams explaining where joy could and could not exist. Maybe it was the slow creep of “doing it right” instead of doing it our way. Feathers turned to fenders. Wings became welded frames. We didn’t stop being crows—we just forgot how to recognize each other.
Now we are ArtCars.
Misfit machines stitched together from memory and metal, still carrying the instinct to collect shiny things—LEDs, mirrors, fragments of who we used to be. We idle at intersections instead of perching on wires. We signal instead of screaming.
And somewhere along the way, we started keeping score. Trophies. Comparisons. Who shines brightest, who draws the biggest crowd. As if the sky ever handed out awards for flying.
It didn’t.
It just let us be.
So here’s the thing.
There’s a half birthday coming. Not official. Not stamped or approved. Just a moment—a crooked little milestone that doesn’t ask permission to exist. And it feels like something the old crows would’ve loved. An excuse without needing to be one.
So let’s celebrate.
Not perfectly. Not competitively. Just… honestly.
Be like a crow again:�Collect something pointless and beautiful.�Hop—figuratively or literally—down the street because you can.�Scream and horned when you see your people, even if it’s just with headlights flashing and horns chirping like laughter.
Let’s draw a huge circle. Not a perfect one—38 miles. A wandering on our 610 loop like the paths we used to take through the sky. Save the date September 27th. No grand stage, no trophies at the end. Just motion, presence, and the shared understanding that we’re still here.
Still strange.�Still shining.�Still ours.
The only rule? Drive safe and mostly lawful. Leave just enough room for mischief to breathe.
We may not have wings anymore.
But we remember how to fly.
ArtCar Rally around Loop 610
-SHINEY,
ArtCar Scavenger Hunt.
The meet up location will be announced closer to the event !
They say we used to have wings.
Not the polished, museum kind—no, ours were ragged, clever, oil-slick black. We were free-range crows once, the kind that knew every rooftop, every shortcut, you know as the crow flies. We collected the world in fragments: a lost earring, a chrome bolt, a candy wrapper that caught the sun just right. Treasure wasn’t about value—it was about shine.
We didn’t walk. We hopped. Sideways, forward, for no apparent reason except that movement felt good and the street belonged to us. And when we saw each other?
We screamed and horned like crazy.
Not politely. Not quietly. Full-throated, joyfully unhinged screams that echoed off buildings and startled dogs and made humans look up from their small, glowing rectangles. That was our language. That was connection.
Then something changed.
Maybe it was the city permits. Maybe it was the rules, the lawsuits, the diagrams explaining where joy could and could not exist. Maybe it was the slow creep of “doing it right” instead of doing it our way. Feathers turned to fenders. Wings became welded frames. We didn’t stop being crows—we just forgot how to recognize each other.
Now we are ArtCars.
Misfit machines stitched together from memory and metal, still carrying the instinct to collect shiny things—LEDs, mirrors, fragments of who we used to be. We idle at intersections instead of perching on wires. We signal instead of screaming.
And somewhere along the way, we started keeping score. Trophies. Comparisons. Who shines brightest, who draws the biggest crowd. As if the sky ever handed out awards for flying.
It didn’t.
It just let us be.
So here’s the thing.
There’s a half birthday coming. Not official. Not stamped or approved. Just a moment—a crooked little milestone that doesn’t ask permission to exist. And it feels like something the old crows would’ve loved. An excuse without needing to be one.
So let’s celebrate.
Not perfectly. Not competitively. Just… honestly.
Be like a crow again:�Collect something pointless and beautiful.�Hop—figuratively or literally—down the street because you can.�Scream and horned when you see your people, even if it’s just with headlights flashing and horns chirping like laughter.
Let’s draw a huge circle. Not a perfect one—38 miles. A wandering on our 610 loop like the paths we used to take through the sky. Save the date September 27th. No grand stage, no trophies at the end. Just motion, presence, and the shared understanding that we’re still here.
Still strange.�Still shining.�Still ours.
The only rule? Drive safe and mostly lawful. Leave just enough room for mischief to breathe.
We may not have wings anymore.
But we remember how to fly.
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Where is it happening?
Houston, Texas, United States
Event Location & Nearby Stays:
Know what’s Happening Next — before everyone else does.
Host or PublisherJoe Hale Haden
