and i hope that someday,
you find that escape
that you're always wishing for.

so, recently, jeff luker's photography has had an impact on me. i think it's one of those things i was talking about just the other day, how nowadays there is some sort of reaction against how the digital era has created these "perfect" images. where's the human in the people?

i still adore fresh bokeh, as trite as bokeh has gotten to be. but i've always searched for the moment that makes us intensely human, and inherently vulnerable.

maybe because that's the place i've always been.

here are some from last weekend. at a very interesting wedding. i was wearing a hawaiian dress and a lei while taking these.

last night, i dreamt about playing the piano.

i love being in the passenger seat of a car
what does that say about me?

we chase cures for our embroidered hearts
blaming hormones, using needles, blaming seas
i think the frothy whiteness of the salt will find us soon,
and make us thirsty for regret
but somehow the heart continues to reach
for a sail, for a line, for a paddle,
i don't know in what color hearts do dream,
but i know that at the bottom of the water you'll find me still
holding my breath, too soon it seems

if you leave, could you just leave me with the sky?

it is motion that i crave

perhaps i believe that it will inspire creation in me, or at least, movement from within.

some things can't be scripted

this is my 100th post in this new place.

your hands plunge 100 stories down into somewhere, maybe my heart, maybe my throat, maybe my canal-like veins. it's like Venice out here, dirty and old and romantic. and full of water. what things carry water?
your eyes, when you try not to cry.

i like it when you try not to cry. i feel like i'm looking in a mirror, except your tears are falling out of MY eyes.

jump start my sorrow because when you turn your fingers in me, my ignition alights in your hair
you hold me like you hold your breath when you try to touch your toes, it's like this stretchy tension that still feels stiff inside

we're lucky, i guess, when our eyelids flutter with the same intent or purpose, when the saxophone actually big bands our hands.

the summer wounds our ability to stay wrapped up in cocoons, and instead we sweat out succulent desire, or maybe it's forced desire that acts and tastes succulent, i can't tell any more, but is there really a difference?
i think about jumping you or you jumping me in train stations, maybe an alleyway or two. jack and the beanstalk just can't take the magic anymore, but you can't take the magic out of me.

...bring may flowers.