YOU'RE ALWAYS LEAVING THE LIGHT ON

December 27, 2024

song: garamond by arm’s length

362/365 // *stuck in a dream state of art*

362/365 // *should i fall off the face of the earth?*

HEAVEN ON EARTH.

December 27, 2024

A pair of Yellow Gloves
Too big to fill
A pair of Red Wings
Too strong to wear down

359/365 // *we’re gonna catch a big one*

With those big hands, it is said he built our home into the hillside,
I was too young to understand.
He has the hands of his father, I have the hands of my grandmother,
But our blood runs the same, though it won’t flow in my fingers any longer.

359/365 // *roaring or frozen, i love you all the same*

So he’ll slide one Yellow Glove from his marked and gnarled hand and pass it to me.
”Which one needs it?” The left. The right needs to advance the shutter. I can’t miss a moment.
Run ahead, crouch in the prairie grass, let the light slip lower, count the steps, take the shot.
I’ve taken these photographs one billion times but I need one billion more.

I was too young to understand when they moved our home and forged it among a snakes den.
We ran through the tree rows, got muddy in the culverts, shot fireworks past the clothesline.
Helped with Yellow Gloves to clear dead trees, and planted new ones.
Followed Red Wings as they lead us in and out of pastures. “We’ve got nothin’ but time.”

We’re going on a hike. And so we’ll play Remember When?
”The time Gypsy found two boys by the old trees where the Cannonball curves, starting a new civilization in a blizzard.”
”The time the Eldest crossed the river and fell in.”
”The time we lost the Second Uncle and the fire brigade rescued him.”
And I wonder if this too will be a Remember When on next year’s hike.
But alas, we make it to our destination, minus one pair of sunglasses.

359/365 // *pretty little dead things, part two*

And so we close another year with another hike and few more photographs of the people I’ve always known weaving their way across a frozen prairie. Amidst the golden hour, with the sound of the prairie grass, I can’t help but notice we’re a few members short.

359/365 // *few things are greater than a view like this*

My chest squeezes because I want it to always exist.
The way they forged this family, this tradition, I need it to stay.
I need it to always live on.
I need every photograph, every cocklebur, every stick of the western wheatgrass.
And like every other year, I can’t quite catch my breath —
And I wonder how I could have ever left, heaven on earth, because I’ve always only ever followed

A pair of Yellow Gloves
Too big to fill
A pair of Red Wings
Too strong to wear down

”Come along, shadow.”

ALWAYS ALMOST THERE.

December 22, 2024

Sometimes I wake up and it’s a “close out the world day.”
Headphones in. Music playing, no skips.
You can repeat a song, but you can’t skip it.
You can save it to a playlist, but you have to let it play.

Sometimes on “close out the world day” —
I sit in front of the camera on a tripod and wait for the song to tell me what to do.
Sometimes I wait a long time.
Sometimes Vincent appears to see what’s happening and why I can’t hear him.
Sometimes he takes a shot at portraiture.

Today had a really great stream of random songs.
Like really great.
Like I saved almost every single one.
As I sat in front of the camera three really visual songs played in a row.
But I started taking images during Always Almost There by Cathryn Lovett

357/365 // *all my friends are getting better, i’m just getting scared*

357/365 // *i can’t get my shit together*

If you listen to this song, and you probably should, put headphones on because the ending — it’s necessary.

BRIGHT AND CURIOUS WE'LL STAY

December 20, 2024

Promise me this,
That you’ll stay bright and curious.

Stand tall, shoulder’s back, hand clasped,
Stand like a punk.

Do not fold, do not bend.
Stay who you are because who you are is important.

Promise me this,
That you’ll stay bright and curious.

Say what is necessary, say it again, say it loud,
And do not yield for what you know to be true.

Do not shrink, do not diminish your light.
Stay who you are because who you are is important.

There are many impossible things we face.
There are so many, I cannot possibly write them all in similes and metaphors.

There will be many more impossible things to face.
We will meet them all, standing tall, with light, unyielding to the dark.

THREE FITTY THREE.

December 18, 2024

seeing double vision

WEREWOLF MOON

December 14, 2024

This isn’t real.
You’re right it’s not.
It’s got a little exposure stacking, but, I mean, c’mon, how is the night this cool.

349/365 // *14 dec 2024 01:14:08 sans geminids but complete with jupiter*

IS THAT ENOUGH TENSION FOR YOU

December 12, 2024

“I’ve got an idea for you.”

347/365 // *“I’ve got an idea for you.”*

brittle fingers, my bones ache
headlights in my rearview mirror are too bright
it comes to me then, i’m too sensitive for this life

sore legs, my muscle burn
fog swirls in the sky as the taillights dip below the horizon
it comes to me then, i forgot to tell you that one last thing

empty stomach, my head pounds
punk music circles in and around my head
it comes to me then, i’ll never quite fit into this existence

OBJECT PERMANENCE

December 11, 2024

song: object permanence by arm’s length

346/365 // *I think I’ll hold on until my fingers slip away*

346/365 // *I’ll stare at the sky until I catch it blink*

hazy clouds
pink moon
someone points at the sky
it’ll be time soon

exhaust swirling
cold biting
i reach out but can’t close the loop
battling, fighting

don’t leave me in the dark
reach back for me
”be stronger, get it together”
at war with the constant plea

they forget them
i save every word
the wind cuts my eyes
all i see is blurred

i am a ghost
climb out of the dark
one foot under, one foot above
can’t escape it without a mark

i am ok, i am alright
i am fine
these scars, these words, this battle
it is mine

without it, i am incomplete
without it, i am not me
it is mine
and so all mine it will be

hazy clouds
pink moon
someone points at the sky
it’ll be time soon

A LETTER TO AN OLD FRIEND

December 10, 2024

If I could talk to you now
I’d ask so many questions

How did you do it?
How did you lay it all aside, set it down, and move beyond it?
And do you think I’ll get there?

Do you ever still watch the sunrise?
Do you sit on the roof?
Do you remember it?

You can’t really pocket dial anymore, did you notice that?
It made me sad when I did
Tonight, in the cold, a memory flashed from the depths of my mind
The cold and the wind, they always bring it back

After closing shift, late at night
Country road, windows down
Singing at the very top of your lungs

The special ringtone
The rush of the wind from your window
The shitty bass in that red car
The rasp in your rough voice

I’d crouch at the end of my bed
Alone in the basement, clutching the phone to my ear
Listening, smiling, stifling my breath
And laughing, your laugh, full and unabashed when you’d yell my name

It’s a nice memory
Hides some of the not so nice memories
Do you still sing in the car?

You can’t really pocket dial anymore
Did you notice?

You can’t watch a sunrise from the roof
Do you remember how cold it use to get?
And how we didn’t care?

I can’t take that country road to your house
And neither can you

If I could talk to you now
I’d ask you so many questions

I’d ask how you are
I’d ask who you’ve become

I’d tell you who I am and what I’ve done
I’d ask if you think it makes any difference at all

If I could talk to you now
I’d ask how and when, exactly, did we grow up
I’d ask when, exactly, did you let go
And if it’s time that I did too

If I could talk to you now
I’d tell you I think I already did

LOST BOY

December 5, 2024

song: lost boy by ruth b.

340/365 // *i might be in love with the moon*

340/365 // i’ll promise that you’ll never be lonely
There was a time when I was alone
Nowhere to go and no place to call home
My only friend was the man in the Moon
And even, sometimes, he would go away, too

340/365 // *sprinkle me in pixie dust and let me to believe*
Neverland is home to Lost Boys like me
And Lost Boys like me are free

340/365 // *“away from all of reality"*
You are now my home sweet home
Forever a Lost Boy at last

340/365 // *i am in love with the moon*
There was a time when I was alone
Nowhere to go and no place to call home

SLIVER MOON

December 4, 2024

Just a glimpse.

339/365 // *sliver moon at 16:52*
peek venus in alignment

WALK ON.

November 26, 2024

song: can’t go back now by the weepies

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on.
One foot in front of the other. An impossible task, I know. But we do it anyway.
In the end, we’ll wish we were somewhere else. But we’ll stay anyway.

It will feel like we’re all alone. But we’re not. We are — both — on the other side.
Waiting it out, walking on.
When you can’t take one more step, picture stardust, a rising moon surrounded by inky black and walk on.

You won’t know it, but I’ll be doing the same. Trading pavement for prairie grass.
Wishing on the same dark sky.
Waiting it out, walking on.

The light might fade. The easing strength may wear thin.
But neither light nor strength will completely diminish. It does not disappear.
It feels farther from reach. It feels like that impossible step.
But, it lingers, pulling on that tether. Echoing a song, whistling on the wind, sharing the same thoughts.
It lingers in dark. It lingers in light.

So walk on, walk on, walk on.

Take up space. Say what you need, out loud. Say it to the sky, to the wind, until you’re heard.
You can hold both. The dark and the light. I know, because, I do, too.
And I know because you do. And in this, we never have to be alone, even when walking alone.
So walk on, walk on, walk on.

And I’ll see you after.

SOMEWHERE.

November 22, 2024

Somewhere out there is a book with forgotten words.

Somewhere hidden away in the inky black of night, lay some of those words. Just under soft gray clouds, dancing behind stars and planets.

Somewhere in the vast navy blue of ocean waves, turning over and over, a few phrases sink.

Somewhere along the prairie grass, there’s a thought or two hidden in the wind. It howls and still the words hide.

Somewhere deep in my chest cavity, under my rib cage, there are words etched into the thump and beat of my heart. Strangled and trapped; beating, raging, to escape.

Somehow, if you were to collect all these words and line them up... You’d know then. That I’m somewhere. That I’m somewhere else entirely. But you’ll never get to this somewhere.

And so my words live nowhere.

324/365 // *in all scenarios and in all situations*

327/365 // *like long goodbyes from the lonely sound of alarms*

HOLD MY BREATH, TAKE A DIVE.

November 18, 2024

I’ve had this song on repeat in my head for several days now.
That usually means it’s time to make it visual.

song: I Don’t Like You, Whatsoever by Major League

323/365 // *I’ll walk the plank with my blindfold tied / I’ll never make it out of this storm alive*

But I should note, I do like you all whatsoever, so don’t take it too personally. 🤘🏻

SOMETIMES.

November 11, 2024

Sometimes I cannot breathe and I don’t know why
Sometimes it feels like the weight of all existence is splayed out in front of me and there’s no way to understand any of it

Sometimes my stereo skips and I think it’s you calling
Sometimes I don’t think I’ll survive if you don’t

Sometimes I think I was given the ability to feel too much or nothing at all
and there is no inbetween and there is no balance

Sometimes I want so badly to say the exact right thing at the exact right time
Sometimes I try to eat something, take three bites, and throw it away

Sometimes I think I really can solve the problem
Sometimes I think I’m full of shit

Sometimes I think too much
Sometimes I don’t think at all