colonization and killing of indigenous Americans / happy thanksgiving!

what's even worse than celebrating a false and twisted ideal is targeting a strange bird to kill and eat.

jean-paul and simone

the ultimate dangerous liaison

das unheimliche

jean-paul circa 1935


steve circa 2008

the los angeles arboretum

food for thought


a fast one


find our flying friend


lazy male


"let's have sex"


our new house


and justin's nose


a nice day to have a sandwich with our friend and see some succulents.

moth nests / tea cup

this tea cup has been collecting little moths since maybe june

women who blow my mind

françoise


maya


julia


stevie


kate


polly jean

window to the sea park

i keep seeing the same 2 people from high school around los angeles. i saw adam for the first time in maybe 5 years at coachella. he had beer bellies all over his body and became really bro. his voice was still raspy and slurry. i imagined how californians probably mistake his philly accent for one that's native. i saw him in line to get into the campgrounds but he didn't recognise me. later at the beer garden, he sat right across from me instead of 100 other people. we made eye contact about 10 times but i realised he kept looking at me only b/c he thought i was hitting on him. i wondered why he didn't recognise me; we had been mild acquaintances since 5th grade. i remember he asked me in math class "who do you hate in our grade?" once he even hit my crotch walking up the stairs and apologised.

i saw him again a few weeks ago at the el rey. it was during the split second between handing tickets to friends whom i didn't really know and getting a photo pass for something i'd no idea how to do. the fact that i saw him just slid through my mind like the fact that this really philly-looking kid is enjoying himself in los angeles.

bon weekend!

circa 1930

you've been asleep for days hanging around this place

kazu's house

waiting for the drip

each morning she'd open her eyes to the blossoming last days of her life. each day preceded by a full night of sweet drizzle from the mountains, which she watched from her window with a cigarette above her ear. she'd want to hear if he came home. and the hours before it began to rain, she listened to music in her blue suede shoes with her friends in the garage. she'd gotten them at the secret second-handed shop where she'd buy things just so she wouldn't see other people wear them around town. they'd talk about painting the garage at dinner right before biking there. and she'd sit to watch the blond boys from the valley eat their pizza and pasta every evening. for three years, she'd watched them grow, mullets and girlfriends and all. she'd see them around the bibliotheque, between classes and through dreams. she was happy to see them b/c they'd stop to watch her smile. she remembers when she got a new bike and they saw her biking with no handlebars past the tower. she had a sprouted sandwich in one hand and a notebook in the other. she was headed to film class to sit behind the tall boy before he'd become bald. that bike ride wasn't her last. but it's the one that keeps happening each morning right after the mountains are capped, right after their sweet nightly drizzle.