ALL WAS FEEL | On an afternoon so long ago, I lived a life so far away, where all was feel and none was thought, and no one with me there but me, with all my souls in both my soles, my eyes so keen to feed my heart, which longed for the moment I was in more than for any other part. And every house I came across was a home that was mine too, where I lived all sorts of fleeting lives, on an afternoon so long ago.
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glimpses
Sometimes it only takes one photo to tell a story. You can find more of these dispersed throughout the photos and countries sections as well as on social media and in the archive below:
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archive
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selected
STORIES | Every story has a different story and each single one is interlaced with at least one other, from the first to the last. Complex and tall do they pile, warm and cold, bright and dark to be unraveled step by step by those with the curiosity and courage to keep climbing up and down.
JOURNEY | In the end, the journey wasn't all that much about traveling.
LIFESAVER | A lifesaver. Keeping people afloat. Never letting you down, let alone letting you drown. Always there for you. Loyal, no questions asked. A lightweight, but robust. A true helper and a giver, taking in the punches of your desperately flailing arms, taking care of the ones in need without patronizing. A hero. One of the best people I know.
PRIDE | Who better to judge whom not to judge than those who don’t judge, who see what is, not what ought to be in the eyes of those who judge?
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 shivering chills and atomic pulp down the marrow, beautifully, and we slingshot our dreams into the firmament to never land, and we, too, never land while a flock of feelings soars deep inside our selves. We’re nimble, lean but full with a full filling of passion for passion. 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.
TEXTURE OF THE NIGHT | Tantalizing texture of the night, surrender to dark promises we don’t mean, we don’t mean to keep. Plans biting into ripe potentials, swallowing us whole. Sweet stimuli countdown shoves and pulls and tears. Soon our solace soles will dance away in the sonic smoke. Straight line saboteurs devouring neon nibbles until the oxygen outage, vandalism vanguard on a scavenger spree, utterly unafraid of these angry afterdays with their stale smells. None of that can touch us now. The now is us, the midnight all young and daring.
OPEN || DOOR
the door that leads in
always open for one alone
black gate to a blacker beyond
hollowed by gnawing questions
darkened from answers unknown
deep rabbit hole to the underneath
neath the white surface you scratched for so long, long, long
where silent truth sleeps buried softly
a keepsake blanketed by ocean floor
shiny nacre pearl, finders keepers
to live not in but with you now
beaconing the way back to it
the door that leads out
NOT LOST | We thought we were absurdly lost that day. And on paper we were. But we were paperless, left to our own devices. No map, no guidebook, no being lost so long as you keep walking. Reaching for the blue heart of Lake Titicaca, the right ridge towards the north of Isla del Sol was far from us. But we were far from lost and we had the vista to back it up.
people
humans across the worldurban
cityscapes & streetlandscapes
known marvels & chance discoveriesanimals
from the wild to the strayb/w
when inked in black & whiteessays
curated collections with narrativesShow More