digital / film


call home

2 really good summer exhibits

6AM / 6PM

this is travel. this is fog. these are lines that take us places.

You know when you dream about someone and it is like you know them? They are yours? I called the police for you, twice. You were dead in a field. You were dead in your home. You died for me and i loved you. And no one cared. The police wouldn’t help and i knew you were out there and i couldn’t get to you because death is lonely and alone. You were huddled in a darkness with something wrapped around your neck. (Death is rebirth).

I loved you in my basement. (You were different then). I loved you in a lake. (You were different then too). Waist deep in water. I loved you. I waded to you.

New home

Follow the girl with the hat. Let her tell you the time.

there are some people i look at and the only thing that comes to mind is, “wow you have spectacularly large teeth.”

Things that grow in the night

This morning, on the train platform, I thought a man with one arm was walking my way.

Turns out he was just scratching his back while staring me in the eyes.

Now, an hour later, I saw him run past my office door.

You get these ideas in your head and you start to forget where you come from. You think are night. You are not night. You think you are a tree. You forget where your arms end. You begin to breathe in other people’s breaths. You sit in boxes. You sit in radial patterns with no connection. You sit on a train, and no one comes to collect your ticket.