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Jul 12, 2025
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IM SO HAPPY YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND THIS IS SO GOOD IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT FOR DAYS
Apr 4, 2025
Apr 14, 2025
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πI was in third grade. Our teacher had a bob and she was kind. She gave each of us a journal, sheets of computer paper bound together by staples. She taught us that writing could as simple as writing down what happened to you that day to big, bombastic stories β real epics.
She carved out time throughout the week for us to write. This continued on for maybe a month. I loved it. Stories about monkeys fighting airplanes were interspersed with details about the bugs I collected at recess. Any bit of free time I had was dedicated to writing, both in school and out.
Within a couple weeks, the journal was filled. Probably bad writing, yeah, but it was mine nonetheless.
Fast forward a couple months. Third grade ends. Summer begins. I look for my journal. I canβt find it. I ask my mother where it is. She said she threw it away. I cry. She feels guilty. We never talk about it.
Itβs maybe my first experience with grief. I felt legitimately connected to the experience of writing, and to experience actual loss, especially at that young of an age, changed my brain forever. Twenty years later, I write editorial articles at work and poetry at home. I still have a very tenuous relationship with the void lol.
She carved out time throughout the week for us to write. This continued on for maybe a month. I loved it. Stories about monkeys fighting airplanes were interspersed with details about the bugs I collected at recess. Any bit of free time I had was dedicated to writing, both in school and out.
Within a couple weeks, the journal was filled. Probably bad writing, yeah, but it was mine nonetheless.
Fast forward a couple months. Third grade ends. Summer begins. I look for my journal. I canβt find it. I ask my mother where it is. She said she threw it away. I cry. She feels guilty. We never talk about it.
Itβs maybe my first experience with grief. I felt legitimately connected to the experience of writing, and to experience actual loss, especially at that young of an age, changed my brain forever. Twenty years later, I write editorial articles at work and poetry at home. I still have a very tenuous relationship with the void lol.
Jul 7, 2025
Rec
Things that change are interesting to me. Light, humans, all plants, etc.
My favorite images were ones where the subject had some degree of mutability.
My favorite images were ones where the subject had some degree of mutability.
May 1, 2025
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I met with a friend at Ernest E Debs park. As the sun sank, people congregated around the center lawn β lounging, hanging, mostly lying down on picnic blankets.
Soft, synthy beats emanated from a pair of speakers. The air cooled down from earlier. Trees swayed.
The world we inhabit is simultaneously terrifying yet gentle. Be open to it all; work to expand the latter.
Soft, synthy beats emanated from a pair of speakers. The air cooled down from earlier. Trees swayed.
The world we inhabit is simultaneously terrifying yet gentle. Be open to it all; work to expand the latter.
Jun 22, 2025