diary (march)


Last month I lost all of the photos that I took and didn't feel close enough to anyone at the time to really want to photograph them or something or anything, February is always a bad month anyway. I read the temperature of my room displayed on my space heater 42, 44, 49 and watched the clear pools of gel on my mirror shift and frost over. Held my hand under lamplight and waited to see the blood from another cut bead up and run, thought about watching my pupils dilate in a mirror as my neck was touched. This month I moved to Oregon on the other side of the country for a while. Shifted back to all of my belongings being full suitcases, traded icicles for blooming trees. Listened to rain tapping my plastic hood and frogs in the quarry next to the house at night. I lay in bed with nothing much to do and look at the distilled water jar my boy keeps on the windowsill for the plants the linoleum floor and motes. I feel very calm and empty-minded which is nice for now. Every beautiful place I went to I enjoyed very much but it was kinda like that quote 'he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand', haha. Falling asleep isn't a game anymore and the morning is all red light.






unvandalized



Girls becoming graffiti, shot in Brooklyn for Syn magazine

Hair and Makeup by Caroline Baribeau 
Styling by Mimi Kim
Models are Kseniya, Maryse, and Jessica at Re:Direct







diary (january)




Didn't see daylight very much this month, kept to myself and tried not to be so worn out and down. Started crying for some reason as the man operating the train leans his head out as I'm standing outside the closed door and says four minutes. Waited patiently for it to be too cold to take walks and the sidewalk corners to become slush against the curbs. My boy visited for a little while and I felt very nice. I'm used to leaving not being left the jump and sink reminded me of how flatline I am but I soon returned to it. Kept having fever dreams where i'm telling people in my life inconsequential things etc and I have trouble figuring out if they actually happened. I don't remember but I feel alright.









diary (december)



i don't have as much trouble falling asleep but i stay asleep for too long. come home in the middle of the night alone and feel completely different now- not ready to be a real person and feel real it's overwhelming i don't know where to place worry or things to care about. continue to ignore what i'm passionate about, but i still notice things, a broken window in a boxing studio above the prada store on broadway and prince, read that one train line was flooded with 27 million gallons of water two winters ago, do the chalked math written on platform columns- 166+40, 166+30, 166+25, a ballon crawling up the underlit outer wall of a church, a girl throwing a new bouquet of flowers in the garbage on a street corner at dawn when we are the only two there, a man stealing a bike being pushed off of it and his screaming face covered in blood. feel heavy hearted when i'm with people, feel heavy hearted when i'm alone. I'm reminded less of being removed when i'm the latter so i choose that more often. modeled for a painter that's lived in the chelsea hotel for forty years, smiled when i talked to my family sitting on my windowsill over the phone and they said they missed my voice, exchanged gifts with my roommates and friends and felt very warm about everything, felt nice to come home and talk to my boy, nice to watch my cafe become a balloon forest and run outside when i saw flurries in the afternoon the last few days of the month.