October 23, 2009
Oh, but you see, I said to society, I don’t want to come down, to you, to there. I like it here, up in the atmosphere, where dreams don’t fray, miracles are made, where the gentle light leads, and never fades… Photo: Alison Scarpulla

Oh, but you see, I said to society, I don’t want to come down, to you, to there. I like it here, up in the atmosphere, where dreams don’t fray, miracles are made, where the gentle light leads, and never fades…

Photo: Alison Scarpulla

I’m going home, going to make some savings, so to acquire some land; sculpt and assemble a little house in the thicket, in the trees, for me and my heart of dreams. And there I’ll be, between the timber, and wood, thick with mystic, magic… Photo: Jill Danyelle

I’m going home, going to make some savings, so to acquire some land; sculpt and assemble a little house in the thicket, in the trees, for me and my heart of dreams. And there I’ll be, between the timber, and wood, thick with mystic, magic…

Photo: Jill Danyelle

August 7, 2009
Photosynthesis: life breathing life. Photo: A. Scarpulla

Photosynthesis: life breathing life.

Photo: A. Scarpulla

My heart ballooned, at the splinter of a shadow, phantom of a silhouette that I thought was yours, before the coming of the illusion materialized, melted back into the crux of my dreams. Photo: Olivia Bee

My heart ballooned, at the splinter of a shadow, phantom of a silhouette that I thought was yours, before the coming of the illusion materialized, melted back into the crux of my dreams.

Photo: Olivia Bee

Eventide evanesce, sun sinking into the sea, swimming underneath the constellation, stars in the sky, and stars in your eyes. Photographer: Unkown; Source: Ffffound

Eventide evanesce, sun sinking into the sea, swimming underneath the constellation, stars in the sky, and stars in your eyes.

Photographer: Unkown; Source: Ffffound

August 6, 2009
Undertow of reminisce, of dollhouses, of pink bows, of scuffed sandals; being unsuspecting, wide-eyed, unworldly. Photographer: Unknown; Found at: Lovely

Undertow of reminisce, of dollhouses, of pink bows, of scuffed sandals; being unsuspecting, wide-eyed, unworldly.

Photographer: Unknown; Found at: Lovely

August 4, 2009
Just updated my blog, (yes that one).
August 2, 2009
The Drifter: not all who wander are lost. Photo: Poor Specimen

The Drifter: not all who wander are lost.

Photo: Poor Specimen

July 25, 2009
The milky cocoons of my eyelids slump, needle-like slip of vision; papa preaches, society brands me, as a slacker. I’m not intrigued by careers, by climbing cooperate ladders. I wilt even at the proposal of a honest to God job, at the bare notion of my soul withering away in the stale air of an office cubicle. Society scoffs. My mother, my father, are unsettled, interrupted by my resolve to live and die a free spirit. I pray not to succumb to the murky undertow of pompous superficiality. I draft dreams, wish on stars, and whisper to the heavenly hosts, vowing not to misspend this offering of life, vowing to saturate myself in shafts of sunlight, and all that nurtures the soul. I’ll travel, I’ll surf, I’ll write, I’ll give, I’ll laugh until I’m seized with breathlessness, and when I die, I’ll say, my, how content I am with life. Photo: Federico Erra

The milky cocoons of my eyelids slump, needle-like slip of vision; papa preaches, society brands me, as a slacker. I’m not intrigued by careers, by climbing cooperate ladders. I wilt even at the proposal of a honest to God job, at the bare notion of my soul withering away in the stale air of an office cubicle. Society scoffs. My mother, my father, are unsettled, interrupted by my resolve to live and die a free spirit. I pray not to succumb to the murky undertow of pompous superficiality. I draft dreams, wish on stars, and whisper to the heavenly hosts, vowing not to misspend this offering of life, vowing to saturate myself in shafts of sunlight, and all that nurtures the soul. I’ll travel, I’ll surf, I’ll write, I’ll give, I’ll laugh until I’m seized with breathlessness, and when I die, I’ll say, my, how content I am with life.

Photo: Federico Erra

July 24, 2009
Dusk: a goodnight lullaby for the children of the sun. Photo: Todd Marshard

Dusk: a goodnight lullaby for the children of the sun.

Photo: Todd Marshard

Summer: bike rides, best friends; grass prints, game boards; bare skin, sun kisses; love craze, endless days. Photo: Todd Marshard

Summer: bike rides, best friends; grass prints, game boards; bare skin, sun kisses; love craze, endless days.

Photo: Todd Marshard

Dawn: the sun’s serenade, earth’s opening synergy. Photo: Todd Marshard

Dawn: the sun’s serenade, earth’s opening synergy.

Photo: Todd Marshard

September: I’m sitting, waiting for you, waiting to take this world by a storm, for life to shift, reform. Photo: Todd Marshard

September: I’m sitting, waiting for you, waiting to take this world by a storm, for life to shift, reform.

Photo: Todd Marshard

Drifter: I am; free as wind, possessions thin; deeper meaning, soul cleansing, cleaning; wandering the earth’s crux, liberty and luck; perishing in perspective, storyteller’s collective; scoff at society’s tolls, spirit of soul; drifter, I am. Photo: Todd Marshard

Drifter: I am; free as wind, possessions thin; deeper meaning, soul cleansing, cleaning; wandering the earth’s crux, liberty and luck; perishing in perspective, storyteller’s collective; scoff at society’s tolls, spirit of soul; drifter, I am.

Photo: Todd Marshard

July 6, 2009
Gender: men can bring women to their knees with a strike to the skull; women can bring men to their knees with but a look, and a gentle, sensuous touch. Men control women with craven laws of ink, with muscle, brawls, and fists; women control men with their amorous aura, with allure, lips, and vivaciousness. Men have dissipated hours, and corporal vigor in the name of gender superiority; women need not tire themselves, for you see, our mastery of men is not practiced, it is effortless, it is instinct. Photo: Jessie Craig

Gender: men can bring women to their knees with a strike to the skull; women can bring men to their knees with but a look, and a gentle, sensuous touch. Men control women with craven laws of ink, with muscle, brawls, and fists; women control men with their amorous aura, with allure, lips, and vivaciousness. Men have dissipated hours, and corporal vigor in the name of gender superiority; women need not tire themselves, for you see, our mastery of men is not practiced, it is effortless, it is instinct.

Photo: Jessie Craig