Amelia Island.

Amelia Island.

Summer 2013 — St. Augustine.
Developing some film tonight; rediscovered this roll the other night.

Summer 2013 — St. Augustine.

Developing some film tonight; rediscovered this roll the other night.

27 August.

House to myself for the first time ever. A cat, a piano, an apartment condensed into this room. My paintings aren’t “adult” enough; my gizmos and easels, cameras, books not fitting for a house shared with a TV.— But for the week, a week not nearly long enough, I’m alone in the Abende and mornings and I will try to enjoy as many self-revealing moments as possible.

30 June.

The sun is coming up. I’m drinking all the beers in my fridge to keep awake, have my own time when I miss living alone. Mosquitoes got inside somehow; can’t absorb the philosophical movies and dogma as readily as I used to; I barely have an inner monologue anymore. It’s still worth trying.

A friend’s friend’s grandma who’s lived in the same house her whole life starts talking about her dog with cancer wrapped around vital organs and I’m thinking about the phrase “well, he’s gonna die anyway, but these will make him feel better.” Why do we make such a big deal of death? It’s a good motivator for trying to do the unordinary, but a better question could be, why prolong your life? That may be all that we’re doing, with our diets and not smoking cigarettes. We fight unfounded fear, to deny it and desire to prolong life. Why? So that we may drive our riding mower and gather knick-knacks on shelves? To wait till we’ve worked long enough to earn a new dining set? If death isn’t the scary part, why are we so vehemently fighting to avoid it?— in the sense of, give me the reason your life brings meaning to everyone else’s existence.

16 June.

Woke up with sore muscles from a fluffy bed. An energy to start the day, thinking I could be less scared of the worst-case scenarios from the past week at a new job. To the beach with gf and her friends; buried a neglected kid in mermaid-tail-fin and fell face-first into the ocean. Jumped and dived into waves, floated on my back; felt free and elated among the chaos and amnesia of current life. Talks of mini-retirements with one, and shallow recaps with the rest. A movie without computer use and a compulsory film developing session with music I wouldn’t play with my car windows down. Sleepless now, still unanxiously awaiting tomorrow—and why.

"Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

A mature person does not fall in love, he or she rises in love. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. Now they cannot manage and they cannot stand. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have the integrity to stand alone.

A mature person has the integrity to stand alone. And when a mature person gives love, he or she gives without any strings attached to it. When two mature persons are in love, one of the great paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much that they are almost one. Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. Only freedom and love."

Osho (via electrichoney)

This, a million times.

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

last October

last October

Pembroke, VA

Pembroke, VA

Feeling nostalgic

thinking back to Soco Amaretto Lime
my first apartment with blank halls,
a leather couch and freedom
riding the mountainous hills—
taken care of.
Bills are paid, food is supplied
all’s left is to live and
determine which route you’d like to get to campus
it was sad, self-centered, then
now it’s beautiful, an entire world constructed,
to the last brick, in my mind.
I got lost in myself
hard to accept it when worrying about having it again
the greatest tragedy of truncated time.
I was quiet and safe
I think if I want that feeling again
I need to be quiet and safe
otherwise it’s important to let myself
get lost in me—on a beach
in a busy downtown
driving in the car,
watching scenery pass
in a forest
wander into the wooded forest

A little taste of Florida.