No. 45

Things I'm passionate about tend to go hand in hand with things that terrify me.

No. 44

late at night i listen to her cry
after she thinks ive fallen asleep
quiet muffled sobs from her side of the bed
a long intake of breath says shes trying to silence her tears
shes so close and so far away
i cant help but wonder what makes her so sad
in the darkness beside me
i just want to reach out and touch her
but i cant
and exhaustion finally drags us into a restless sleep

No. 43

the summer air was thick and sweet, the flowering vines dripped down into the water, creating a veil around where she stepped up the the creek's edge. the honey scent she could almost taste, flowing in her nostrils and sucking deep into her lungs.
water. dark and deep. envelops her in its icy hands, the stabbing cold tightening in her chest, then caressing her skin with an unimaginable coolness as she sinks to the bottom. stones. smooth under where she lays, fragments of sun flicker through the green depths. finally, she can be alone. nothing but her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears, the rush of blood, the magnified sound of bubbling stream, everything feels so far away. she's entered another world. one where she can simply exist, with no time, no schedule, no to-do list. just body and soul, silent and free under the blanket of water.

No. 42

"I've thrown away all the hope I had in friendships"

No. 41

She might as well been in love with a ghost. The man she'd known didn't exist anymore, he was so changed, unfamiliar, a complete Jekyll and Hyde turnaround. He might as well been dead, because he was long gone, transformed into something she didn't understand. But she kept hanging on, grasping fragments of the dream they used to live. Hoping and praying that he would wake up one morning, back to his old self, and they could resume their beautiful life together. But you know what they say, if you lay down with a dream, you wake up lonely. And that's what she was, every single day, just hurt and lonely.

No. 40

You were scared. Just admit it. You got too close and in too deep- then ran away in terror, hoping you'd escape before it was too late and you were sucked into that great, unpredictable black hole of the unknown. Well, just in case you were wondering, you can't run forever. This messy life you're hiding from, it'll all catch up with you sooner or later.

No. 39

The problem with you, darling, is that you spend twelve hours a night lost in the most beautiful dreams and then spend every second of your waking hours trying to reclaim them. There has to be some separation here, there has to come the time when you wake up and accept that those are just dreams and they're never going to happen. It's the only way you'll ever be able to get on with your reality.

No. 38

Why is the beginning always so much better than the end?


see No. 16 for today's words. that post has been on repeat in my head for the last week

No. 37

Nothing hurts more than unreciprocated affection. You should have known.

No. 36

her room is a wreck.
and the more she sits there staring at it, all that shit piling up, the more and more it seems like a metaphor for her life. a complete and utter mess.

No. 35

I can see a lot of life in you
I can see a lot of beauty too


thank you sufjan...

No. 34

She didn't eat. "Fasted," she said.
Like maybe if she could experience true physical emptiness it would overshadow the hollow feeling in her soul.

No. 33

I want to create something with meaning.
So sick of these mere 'pretty pictures'
Shallow visions of the world. all beauty and no soul.
Give me depth, life, powerful emotive response.
An image that will change the world.
A photograph to redeem mankind.

No. 32

a little disillusioned with humanity today. walking down the street, the heavy scent of pavement being dampened by the soft spring rain. a tension in the gray morning air, buzzing in my ears, making my skin tingle like electric shock. there's something looming on the horizon, I can feel it, taste it sour on my tongue, yet filled with an unnatural calm left over from a dream I can't quite recall. a preoccupation with sleep, the need to go back and find the answers whispered in my nighttime imaginings...

No. 31

"everything is a diary. every work is a self portrait."
the photo of the tree is really a picture of what the artist sees in the tree, how the tree makes them feel, recalls a memory, or a fragment from a dream.

it's a borderline-subconscious need, to photograph. like maybe sometimes we take pictures not to create a visual experience for an audience, but as a means of self-discovery. maybe by analysing our own work we can figure out who we are, what our subconscious is trying to tell us.

or maybe we photograph to create a life, to justify our existence through rigorous documentation. the photographer, the Lone Ranger, the life of solitude, maybe if we take enough pictures we'll have everything we need. the world. it gives life meaning, we can't die until we have enough imagery to satisfy a long life. only then can we be at peace.

or maybe we photograph because it gives us a chance to play god. to create. to control what people see. to have power over emotion.

do what you have to do.

No. 30

Stay out late. Drink too much.
Everything, anything to stay under just a minute longer.
One less second you'll have to spend
One more minute til you're forced to come to terms with your life.
Your sad, twisted state of reality.
Have a little more
It's safe in here, where the world can't get you.
Maybe you can hide forever
Behind your mask of illusions. delusions?
Covered in the soft blanket of addictions
No one will ever find you.

No. 29

The tea was cold
Icy and bitter on her tongue
To match the words swirling in her head
The controlled rage
The pain. the pills.
Her mind double-exposing all the thoughts
Layering them one on top of the other
Until nothing made sense
But one thing was clear:
Art never comes from happiness.

No. 28

It really killed her, to drive by the airport every morning as she entered the city. Watching the planes soar into the sky, hundreds of people en route to exotic destinations. She envied them. All those strangers heading to their foreign locales. She'd do anything to just pull off the highway and board the next plane out of the country. She couldn't take one more day of this mediocre life. With her ordinary job, her uninspired apartment and her average boyfriend. Why was everything just plain satisfactory? When was she going to get a break and rise above the normal and mundane?
No one ever answered her questions. NPR continues to mumble out of the car stereo and she keeps driving, 'til the airport is no longer visible in her rear-view mirror and she's relinquished her life to yet another day.

No. 27

She loved to ride the train to work. Watch the countryside roll past her window, catch up on her reading, listen to her walkman. She didn't really want to admit it, but half the fun was the possibility that a devastatingly attractive man would sit down next to her on the daily commute and proclaim his undying love for her. Well, alright, perhaps 'undying love' is asking for a bit much, and would be kind of creepy coming from a complete stranger... but she still secretly hoped that Mr. Right would at least sit and chat. That would be nice. God she really is a hopeless romantic isn't she. Drugged by a childhood of empty promises made by fairy-tale picture books and Disney movies. Well honestly, anyone would be a better seat-mate than the usual bloated businessmen barking into their cell phones, and ancient ladies smelling of nursing homes and dead roses.

No. 26

the desk is cluttered
scraps of paper
lined, yellow, napkin corners, post-its
the rubbish bin is overflowing with them
wadded, wrinkled, double-folded
all lists. things he's done. things he hasn't.
scribbled down and checked off
a cut and paste diary of his existence
crossing off each task
taking him just another line closer to his end

No. 25

I wanted to go to the city for New Year's Eve. Have a legitimate party with everyone from everywhere. Except it's so darn expensive. I always set out with the most frugal intentions- pack a nice lunch, some snacks, bring my camera and plan a few free galleries for entertainment. But the air never fails to be filled with the most enticing aromas, inviting me into an uncomfortable-priced restaurant where you pay extra for ice in your drink and the sales tax is almost as much as your entree. Honestly, it's like you can feel the pennies dropping out of your pocket, the second hand on my watch ticking away nickels and dimes for every minute I spend simply wandering the streets...

...needless to say I did my champagne toasting from the comfort of my own home and watched the free version of the city via satellite.

No. 24

you said it doesn't make any sense
but sometimes freedom from reason is exactly what we need

No. 23

At night the tv was her only lover
it's gentle blue glow lulling her to sleep
Muffled voices speaking in her dreams
whispering all the things she ever wished to be

No. 22

How dare you. Don't you go killing my dreams before they've even had a chance to get off the ground. Hunting them down while they're still fragile figments of my imagination. The poor helpless things.

No. 21

She always loved books. For her, they were an escape, a way out. Some place she could run to, hide in. Gobbling them up, one after another, anything, anything to keep her from reality just a moment longer. For while her mind was buried in words, stories, adventures, she could forget, she could pretend, and life didn't seem half as bad. If only she could tuck herself neatly between the pages and escape this world for good. Just whip out a pen and write herself into someone else's story. A better one, perhaps.