i don’t think i exist to anyone. like truly exist.
Every time I see a plane I wonder who the people in it are and why they’re going wherever it is they’re going.
"I never thought I was doing anyone a favour by bringing children into the world. With people as cruel to each other as they are, it’s a terrible proposition. The best of lives are sad and tragic. The best of them. My general conclusion is that it’s not a nice thing to do. The world doesn’t need it. The kid doesn’t need it."
Carey Mulligan speaks to husband Marcus Mumford at the official opening dinner of the Cannes Film Festival….
Funny story: during my internship with my dear friend and photographer Rachel Moore last year - I ended up creating a photobook for Marcus & Carrie with images she shot of a group of musicians from Nashville who all knew Marcus and recorded a song as a present for the couple for their wedding. (Rachel’s husband Brett is in the band Apache Relay, who is connected with Mumford & Sons and has toured with them several times.) So yeah. That’s my story :)
there are memories
i have burned into place
like a fire upon your palms-
your sturdy, vulnerable pads of flesh
i plagued with an adoring soot
to make them unavailable to someone else
like they were available to me.
like you let them be.
i have burned house smells,
and pieces of writing,
and painted skies with photographed clouds
as something unattainable,
inflamed, onto my psuedo-intellectual corners.
an eternal sunshine, but of a laundered blackened mind.
like that night the wind blew through our un-curtained, uncensored windows
a fresh, clean smoke into our lungs-
i danced, deeply,
you half-watched, half-dreamed, deeply.
i burned that memory,
like onto wood. it will be ravenously eaten,
it will rot, so it will disappear,
just like the flames at the hand of our breathing air.
my own hypnotizing spell: the process of the burn and catch.
and when it has faded into the earth,
i will know where to dig.