take me

i have no idea who took this.

we'll fight for your (dying) cities

my love of urban decay and american ruins has now put me in the position of making a choice. do i support the decay, the forlorn, the crumble of buildings because aesthetically, i think they are beautiful. paint pealing, rusted pipes, exposed bricks wrought with holes. i keep doing all this research, reading interviews with the people that actually live in these desolate and decayed areas, ones that are nostalgic for the past, where streetcars actually worked and movie houses were known as palaces. i am wondering about this nostalgia, in fact i wonder if memories are even a good thing in some places. i'm interested in helping to write a new future, one that acknowledges the past but does not dwell on it. but also one that does not support these downtown rennovations that exist only for guests and visitors. visitors that have moved away to safe havens where decay has not yet reached them and where they can walk along the riverwalk downtown and remember the old days. old days they basically fled from or that they never experienced first hand. my history is for the people that stayed and the people that come back and come for the first time. people seeking to form a place with visions of our forefathers before capitalism turned on us. maybe, these will be new cities, new neighborhoods with neighbors who converse and help each other the way neighbors were known to do. there is nostalgia for that and in which i am in agreeance on. as much as i am starting to despise the word community, i am very much for it. so, i suppose i will live with the pictures of the american ruins and help write a new history.

burn with speed

matthew nighswander

call back the wind

you are exactly where you need to be

keep on keepin' on

striped patterns on top of flowered patterns.
reading the sunday times on mondays.
old school composition notebooks.
late lunches and afternoon sunshine.
bob dylan before bed. and before breakfast.

you killed me first

these days are bones

you can take a look around, but i'm not sure what you'll see.

you can take a look at me, but you might want to turn away.
or you might want to look forever.

when you look around, you just see remnants of life, living, hollowness, wine bottles.

when you look at me, you see remnants of sleep, hair sticking up, glasses, slippers, tiredness.

but when you really look at me, into my eyes, you see flashes of green grass, sun-kissed skin, laughter, secrets. when you really look at me, you can smell jasmine and olive oil, you see baskets of fish and chips, you can imagine nothing better than swimming in clear water and lying in hammocks. you love deeply. you might never turn away, because turning away would bring you back to the hollows and the wine bottles. but if you don't turn away, you'll just hear voices and smell smells and attempt to float away, but you can't. there is a whole world you want to be a part of, which i am. but you look away because your gaze cannot hold mine. you move onward and i sit back down.

a violent hunger

i am thinking about wearing bright sundresses and espadrilles.

i am wanting to sunbathe topless while wearing a large white brimmed hat, something out of this side of paradise.

i feel like singing loudly at night while perched on the back of a vespa.

i wonder how the sunlight pours into rooms halfway across the world. i can no longer see it in my head. the memories have evaporated, or settled deep inside me where i cannot find them.

i am desperate to pick plums and oranges and apples and sit on a hillside and eat them in the sunshine. a sunshine different from what i have now.

soon. soon i hope.

a momentary pause

gigi gatewood. from her knowing and believing series.