curiousities.
2009/08/27
MY BEST FRIEND, SAN FRANCISCO, AUG 09
he is lightning. tragic, amazing, devastating, volatile, torrential.
he jumps high and i flash, he jumps higher, the shutter flies. i am a tree, he a butterfly perched upon my branch, fleeting, blissfully aware of his mortality.
i feel like no storm will ever break me.
I HEART ART SGHOOL. AUG 09
this is ryan in front of john's artwork. john tried to call himself jack, but i can't buy it, i was 16 when i first saw john, standing with long hair, in a marilyn manson t-shirt at an all ages punk show. he stood near the back, he watched and didn't really dance or move or anything. but i remember thinking he was cute. his cuteness has a patina of worn experiential satiation. but he is still a strange little boy, whom i have always adored from afar and yet from oddly close distances. recently, john told me he held marilyn mansons hand and looked into his eyes. i thought this was a lovely moment in time. i'm sure it was magical.
2009/08/06
FIRSTS OF LASTS, JULY 27 09
RANDOM:
the tattoo parlor, beans baked to the city sidewalk, and evidence of some shit that went down, one day before linzo left town.
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