it is a new year in russia

Home, Winter

Home, Winter, pt 2 (edition: peanut butter-less)

Home, Winter, pt 3

Home, Winter, pt 4.

lanie, pablo

there was snow, then rain, and i was miserable. the night cleared, ingrid ran in the park and things lifted into the air.

Trains, Philadelphia

Any of the hours before the first snow

The View From the Kitchen Window (cont.)

home in ginkgo

I give thanks for my trip to Myrtle Avenue, last Wednesday

in the moment, how could i not feel like the most grateful person on the planet? i like it when i hear people say 'i am blessed.' i am blessed.
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Take Flight Young Steeds!

This pictureof flying horses happened right after I realized that my girlfriend is way hotter than Maggie Gyllenhaal

"oof," it sighs.

today the fall arrived swooping down with cold cold air and a 7 am wake-up call. i slammed the door then jerked on her leash too hard rounding a chicken-bone studded corner. later, after dreaming of a road that rests on a country stream drifting downward, i had eggs and toast in the academy diner. the fall wasn't glistening in the diner, it was just resting there, smirking and/or smiling. when i feel like i'm a cliff overlooking a change it never seems to be possible, these days, to gauge the drop. in the times, over greasy greasy turkey sausage, i read about vieques and thought of donia olga and her blue apartment by the sea.

Atlantic Yards Railway

To Do:

Lafayette in time

When I worked in the pumpkin patch the train would cut through the field twice a day. Twisted backs, we would look up - me and the Kenyans - and signal the conductor who signaled back. On that train to anywhere, did he do that to other pumpkin pickers all day long? The Kenyans startled every time the car backfired and they came to my cabin at night for autumn-laden campfires by the creek. We were mostly timid and dying due to the movements that had led us to the patch. When the train wasn't dicing up the field, there were times when it was the only thing that could form my thoughts.

The Duck Huntress Version 1.0

Mom's Cooking Cabbage and Collard Greens

Today begins the six months of Silence. I feel prepared, strengthened by a tough summer and a Love who plays the banjo. I'm re-reading 100 Years of Soledad as a means to walk into the six months of Silence with a capable six gun by my side. My metro card is sleek, and it does the trick, most of the time. I have good friends who will huddle with me around whatever fire burns in the barrel, and for them I am grateful. My family is supportive, and they invite me home for luxurious Christmas feasts in Hollis, Queens. Yes, I am ready for the six months of Silence, and all that it will readily offer my fear of the known. -Brooklyn, 2007.

The Squirrel Huntress Version 2.1

La Plaza de Armas, Brooklyn

With the change of season there is always more energy to play with, suffer through, float in, walk off; Prospect Park has become a new destination early morning or otherwise. Today at least, every person appears content with this flux.

randall's island, at the arcade fire

one hundred years of yellow

the masks we wear (en colombia)

foto cortesía de Clara Elena S.

"I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.” -Anais Nin

the love we land in along the way