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words
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lines
SOMETHING'S MISSING | If I knew what it was, it wouldn't be missing.
Montreal / Canada · 2020
MANY REASONS | I’ve seen these guys fight for many silly reasons, but race was never one of them.
East London / South Africa · 2017
SUNFLOWER CEMETERY | And when they ask us why all the sunflowers are dead, we’ll just tell them the truth: that this cemetery is really a cradle turned cemetery turned cradle.
NRW / Germany · 2020
PRIDE | Who better to judge whom not to judge than those who don’t judge?
Montreal / Canada · 2019
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passages
SETTING MOM ON FIRE | Burn mother, one last time and then another. We won’t learn, we won’t turn, knocking on our self-made urn. And when we’re on your mantelpiece – inside the ruin we’re building a few steps down the road – will you miss us please?
Samos / Greece · 2021
GOOSEBUMPS OF OUR PRIME | Halfway there, halfway here, some road ahead, some in the mirror. Every fork the right way. No desert wasteland wasted on us. Passion reactors, fueled by horizon hopes and longings to linger, bound to burst but never today. Destination none. Freedom fever. Don’t need a thing, much less everything. Dreams yes, love perchance. Bright light leaving dark marks under our skin. Friendly risks, more firsts than lasts, pain painted over. Goosebumps of our prime.
Namibia · 2017
A TOUCH OF NATURE | If velvet were crisp to the touch and soul fibers green… as though a faint childhood memory or ancestral longing or DNA artefact had guided her hand towards this touch of nature. A firmly loving touch, less speaking to curiosity and more to familiarity, a touch of what’s always been akin, fiber-deep underneath.
Paris / France · 2022
OUT THERE NOWHERE | Out there nowhere, nowhen, none the wiser. Still on a silverfish search for the soul of this place, feeling out our cog in the grand machinery. But once we come to find that there is no way around crossing these forever rails, laid out long before us, it is the defeat of all defeat. And with eyes wide open it is easy to see that they have led toward, not away, all along. The promised land was never straight ahead, or West, but wherever our feet are pointing.
Bolivia · 2014
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essays
