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words
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lines
CAN'T TELL | It speaks to me, but I can’t tell what it’s saying.
Cape Finisterre / Spain · 2022
MANY REASONS | I’ve seen these guys fight for many silly reasons, but race was never one of them.
East London / South Africa · 2017
DARK SPARK | Nothing lights up my spark like the dark.
Montreal / Canada · 2020
PRIDE | Who better to judge whom not to judge than those who don’t judge?
Montreal / Canada · 2019
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passages
SETTING MOM ON FIRE | Burn mother, one last time and then another. We won’t learn, we won’t turn, knocking on our self-made urn. And when we’re on your mantelpiece – inside the ruin we’re building a few steps down the road – will you miss us please?
Samos / Greece · 2021
GOOSEBUMPS OF OUR PRIME | Halfway there, halfway here, some road ahead, some in the mirror. Every fork the right way. No desert wasteland wasted on us. Passion reactors, fueled by horizon hopes and longings to linger, bound to burst but never today. Destination none. Freedom fever. Don’t need a thing, much less everything. Dreams yes, love perchance. Bright light leaving dark marks under our skin. Friendly risks, more firsts than lasts, pain painted over. Goosebumps of our prime.
Namibia · 2017
GOLDEN GREEN | With a harvest so golden green came the luxury to forget for a moment; forget about the previous year’s drought and those floods the season before that. Their pay was not measured in labor, sweat, dirt or time, but in luck – existential luck – and so their fate was never fully in their own calloused hands, but in the hand they got dealt by the capricious mother of all, queen of spades.
Tamil Nadu / India · 2018
WHEN WE ARE | Come graze with us on this silky autumn air, feed off its slowly cooling warmth, sinking late tonight with all the colors making out. Now that the night leaks into the valley, it flushes atomic pulp down our backbones’ marrow and waves of chills ripple through our collective arteries. And we slingshot our dreams into the firmament to never land, as we, too, never land while a flock of feelings soars deep inside our selves. We’re nimble, lean but full, a full filling of passion for passion dripping from our pores. Drowsy drifters slashing their own sails, we wake up to a dream life, the world our living room, an entire universe for a ceiling, our jest fest uninterrupted on this phantom stage. When we are, everything is.
Granada / Spain · 2017
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essays
