"Because the thing is, people come and they go. And there’s no way to dictate this or stop that, or even change the world. Our world is the world. My world is the world. Who’s to say what the world is, when it’s so different for you and me and all those people out there? My world is my world. There’s no shaping who touches your life, who touches your heart. There’s no changing that. How? How can we know? People come into our lives for a reason (can we know why? should we know why? is there even an answer to any of these questions?), and they come at the right time. They have to, I guess. The right time is the time they come, because we do not know them coming at any other time. It has to be the right time.

But in the end, who’s there? Family, that’s who’s there. What’s family? Family can be friends. Family can be Julie. How far does that stretch? Not too far, I think. But it’s good. We are meant to leave, to be left, to change, to grow. Life should not be stagnant. People should not be stagnant. It’s good we don’t collect people. We can’t collect people (memories, yes, but memories aren’t people). Because each of us lives in our own world. We can’t have more worlds. We can’t live like that. People help. People help us. I think, really, you can learn a great deal about yourself from other people. But at some point, they have to leave. You have to leave. And this is not bad. And this is inevitable. And who am I to say what’s the truth, except that this is my world I’m living in and maybe I can help. Help what? Should that even be a question? Can that be a question? I can help my world. I can--can I help others? Those in my life for now. People are fleeting. But I want to know. I want to know, and be known, and I want to love deeply and with my heart and to understand and to understand and to understand. And I can’t stop writing, I just need to say these things, words collect in my head, questions pile up in my head, I ask questions all the time. All I do is ask questions. Questions help me to think. More than ever, more than then and even the unknown, the time ahead, now I need to think so much. To think so much. But it’s not just that, I need to write, to create and to say what I’m thinking, because even if this is my world it is also our world. I believe that. What is perception, what is life without perception? Ours. The world is the world, regardless. Regardless. So maybe if I say these things (will you understand me?) I’m just saying what I feel, and that’s part of our world, of the world, could it change the world? We can only change ourselves. But ourselves are the world. And people are fleeting, people are so fleeting, but “I love you” doesn’t mean nothing, it doesn’t. That changes my world. You change my world. And my world is our world is your world is the world."


The past few months have been absolutely insane. Crazy. So, so, so wild. 

I've started to write. And really write, not just for essays or school or in a pretend, not-really-completely-into-it fashion. Writing, now is necessary. (Above is the first piece of writing I really did, something I wrote at the very beginning which prompted this intense necessity, this huge passion. That was February).

Iv'e started to run. Really run, I mean, not for kinda feeling good or for getting in shape or whatever, but (again) out of necessity. It is necessary. So I can sleep. So I can work. So I can, generally, keep myself from going insane. Sanity, I think, is a good thing.

Happiness is a good thing.

And I've been really, really happy these past few months. And the thing is, I've also been sleep deprived. And overworked. And overwhelmed.


There are those little things. Those little things that mean so much. (And the big things, too). 

I have a boy. (ha). I have some really, really great friends. I have flowers, and warm weather, and skirts, and the sun, and trying new things.

I have this incredible ability to think that I did not possess even a few months ago.

I am me.

So me.

And, in celebration of this me-ness, of my creativity which really just wants to be expressed, of the need to create, I'm going to be blogging more often.

I hope.

And if that doesn't happen, well, so be it.

But I think it will.

I can make it happen.

Below are some pictures from last weekend. Farmer's market Saturday morning (aren't Ana and Erin cute?), having fun with friends (guitar, music, talking, laughs) Saturday night.

It's spring now. It's beautiful, it's happy, it's good.

Happy Wednesday.



Long day at school, long night ahead.

Above, some pictures taken in my room with some snatched time this weekend. I think, sometimes, blurry shots hold more depth than those completely in focus; there's a definite sense of the unknown, a lingering intimacy and nostalgia. A secret warmth.



This song makes me feel alive.

I think, sometimes, it's so easy to feel as if life is futile. Unimportant. Especially in high school, there's hardly any variation; it seems as if I am constantly driving the same roads, heading for the same destinations. And I know, of course, eventually that will change. I know, in an even profounder way, that life is made of patterns, and these patterns are inherent. Change comes from the individual. Change comes from singular actions.

I'm working on it. I'm trying (very hard) to give my life a sense of meaning. But also, more importantly, a sense of spontaneity. I'm at a point in my life where, honestly, some spontaneity would be good. Healthy. Eye opening.

Tomorrow, life begins again. The pause button is released, and the world comes rushing in, sometimes at a dizzying speed. 

And  that's why I listen to awesome music. And drink lots of coffee. And am in a general state of constant motion.

Life goes on.



Eadweard Muybridge murdered his wife's lover with a "Good evening, Major, my name is Muybridge and here's the answer to the letter you sent my wife".

And then a gunshot.

He also took some pretty cool photos.



So, this covers record by Kate and her brother is incredibly rad. 

As is this Grizzly Bear album (which I just received as a quasi-gift).

And, you know, this album by Youth Lagoon.

So much music love.



In doing some research for an upcoming art project today I stumbled across Grant Hamilton, a polaroid photographer working with SX-70 cameras. His photos are quite simple, and many of them are essentially experiments with color blocking and the like. He finds bold hues and patterns in buses and street signs, and turns them into lovely polaroids.

This interview with him is quite interesting.

Also, this song is slightly hilarious (albeit a bit depressing, as well). 

Happy Wednesday!



"I hate a song that makes you think that you are not any good. I hate a song that makes you think that you are just born to lose. Bound to lose. No good to nobody. No good for nothing. Because you are too old or too young or too fat or too slim, too ugly or too this or too that. Songs that run you down or poke fun at you on account of your bad luck or hard traveling. I am out to fight those songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world and that if it has hit you pretty hard and knocked you for a dozen loops. No matter what color, what size you are, how you are built. I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work. And the songs that I sing are made up for the most part by all sorts of folks just about like you. I could hire out to the other side, the big money side, and get several dollars every week just to quit singing my own kind of songs and to sing the kind that knock you down still farther and the ones that poke fun at you even more and the ones that make you think you've not got any sense at all. But I decided a long time ago that I'd starve to death before I'd sing any such songs as that. The radio waves and your movies and your jukeboxes and your song books are already loaded down and running over with such no good songs as that anyhow."

Such a great message.

And a pretty rad design, as well.

Get it here.

And then listen to some sweet Woody Guthrie here.