hurry up, summer!

No better time like the present to look back at the blast of good, sunshiney vibes from last summer's music festivals, most notably Pickathon and Bumbershoot. These bursts of daylight and pending warm-weather days later this week are making me itch for dresses without tights and afternoons in the grass, both of which will be here soon enough. In the meantime, flashing back to these hot, dusty days will have to do.

acclimatization

she left his book in the back of an airplane seat, the same way she threw that bible out the window on the way to the coast, the same way she threw that necklace off a bridge on the edge of capitol hill. the necklace she got on a trip to LA, when the whole world was sunshine and birds and backstage and malibu coastlines. when it all looked like it was working, until the trip home proved otherwise.

she likes to leave things. things like to leave her.

she left the secondhand pendant that she used to wear to bed hanging on a hook in a restroom of a restaurant, not long after she saw the shimmer was gone from her lover's eye. favorite t-shirts in hotel room beds, cherished hats in garbage cans, wounded hearts on faraway shorelines.

he is no exception. he's no different than the rest.

film forever: (mostly) ocean shores road trip

The gems we get back from the photo processing lab, be it Panda or Bartell's, make me want to carry a film camera around in my bag 24/7.

Here are a few shots that span a couple of years, but mostly from a summer or two ago -- Aberdeen, Ocean Shores, and Keenan and John's wedding. All shot with my dad's old Canon AE-1 Program.

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letters to a young poet

My dear Mr. Kappus,

During this time that has passed without a letter, I have been partly traveling, partly so busy that I couldn't write. And even today writing is difficult for me, because I have already had to write so many letters that my hand is tired. If I could dictate, I would have much more to say to you, but as it is, please accept these few words as an answer to your long letter.

I think of you often, dear Mr. Kappus, and with such concentrated good wishes that somehow they ought to help you. Whether my letters really are a help, I often doubt. Don't say, "Yes, they are." Just accept them calmly and without many thanks, and let us wait for what wants to come.

There is probably no point in my going into your questions now; for what I could say about your tendency to doubt or about your inability to bring your outer and inner lives into harmony or about all the other things that oppress you is just what I have already said: just the wish that you may find in yourself enough patience to endure and enough simplicity to have faith; that you may gain more and more confidence in what is difficult and in your solitude among other people. And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.

And about feelings: All feelings that concentrate you and lift you up are pure; only that feeling is impure which grasps just one side of your being and thus distorts you. Everything you can think of as you face your childhood, is good. Everything that makes more of you than you have ever been, even in your best hours, is right. Every intensification is good, if it is in your entire blood, if it isn't intoxication or muddiness, but joy which you can see into, clear to the bottom. Do you understand what I mean?

And your doubt can become a good quality if you train it. It must become knowing, it must become criticism. Ask it, whenever it wants to spoil something for you, why something is ugly, demand proofs from it, test it, and you will find it perhaps bewildered and embarrassed, perhaps also protesting. But don't give in, insist on arguments, and act in this way, attentive and persistent, every single time, and the day will come when, instead of being a destroyer, it will become one of your best workers - perhaps the most intelligent of all the ones that are building your life.

That is all, dear Mr. Kappus, that I am able to tell you today. But I am sending you, along with this letter, the reprint of a small poem that has just appeared in the Prague German Labor. In it I speak to you further of life and death and of how both are great and glorious.

Yours,
Rainer Maria Rilke

lick! photobooth, v. 4 (I think)

Ultra-queer edition of the Lick! photobooth, 2013 Pride style.

happy pride: gays getting married

Hello, last June!

Two beautiful pals of Alithea's getting marriaged on Pride weekend at the Olympic Sculpture Park, which was arguably one of the hottest days of the last century. <3