rx

every time i start to feel homesick i remember i don't really have a home back home.
not really at all.

being alone is my fire burning.

moments of plenty

i've furnished my apartment with light, privacy, and all the trinkets necessary to craft those personal little moments which make me thankful. living alone has granted me full range of freakdom, a foreign but welcome sweetness.

i like waking up early, trying to catch the moment when that first sun ray reaches up into the sky.
i like eating ice cream in bed and having seconds.
i like turning the top of my dresser into a weekly-rotating arrangement of my favorite things.
i like brewing my double espresso while singing along to 'yellow coat' by screamin' jay hawkins.
i like taking my 30-odd bottles of perfume to bed with me.
i like moving all the furniture to the corners of my tiny studio and using this makeshift dance floor to practice my pirouettes.

i recommend finding the time to peel apples for tartes aux pommes, to water your plants with a choreographed dance, to make up a fava-bean-shelling tune, and to find at least ten beautiful things every day.

like sycamore

remember to love in the wild
and fight in the gym


*






grey areas? qu'est-ce que c'est?
everything in cassland is served up in those two banal shades: black or white. i'm very good at throwing in the towel if something (anything) i start begins to deviate from what had originally been conceived, successfully convincing myself that any effort invested in said thing would be in vain as, of course, no matter how tirelessly i worked from that point on, the thing in question would never be perfect again. oui?

my brain's illogical justification of quitting, for the win!

it was only very recently (say... a few hours ago) that i consciously accepted defeat. something significant i have grasped onto over the past few weeks is that i can actually live up to my own inflated expectations if i focus. what a concept! only, for me, to "focus" means pouring obsessively over every small task, living on espresso and no sleep, and second-third-fourth-fifth-guessing my instincts.

take that, self.
and welcome to casstopia!

the black bell

will you tuck your shirt? will you leave it loose?
you are badly hurt; you're a silly goose
you are caked in mud and in blood and worse
chew your bitter cud; grope your little nurse

turned to an itch

they seem to come to me
asking to be broken
they seem to run to me
i break horses

feelings post-equinox

the year endures a cycle of four seasons.
it begins green at the end of its branch, budding and bitter, but ceaselessly grows into its bearings to become sun-soaked and heavy. it swells. after the spring-summer spell it begs to be plucked, relished before growing exhausted and allowing flesh to fall. autumn is when the year is ripe.

as a child, the beginning days of october were always my best. the light of the sun shone softer and all-enveloping, not at all like the sun of summertime. everything came to be simple, richer and more dense. there would be a morning i would wake up and realize at once that the season had changed without my knowing, that what i was waiting for was in fact here already. that's a good feeling.

in more recent memories i'm venturing outside, sleepy-eyed and covered by my cartoonishly characteristic red peacoat, or smoking too many cigarettes on a particular porch of a third-floor apartment building.
and again i'm nostalgia-sick.

gutless yellow

i have neglected to take photographs for a long year and one season now. that's not to say i haven't made a sorry attempt from time to time, but the sad fact is my momentum has gone. what's sadder still is my inspiration hasn't left at all, reminding me there have been thousands of wasted or forgotten fragments i never did put to picture or even think to jot down.
i'll make a conscious effort to get back into the swing of things now, if for no reason other than to stop being wasteful.

seattle is such a tease though. the places and kinds of people i want to explore all hide themselves very well, and unfortunately, uncovering anything here isn't as safe as it was back home. it's not the kind of environment where i can go at it alone, happily strap my camera to my back and meander solo through the woods, nor is it the kind where i can dress / undress one of my brave friends (assuming i had a single one here) and send her up a tree.
i'm not complaining about urban life because i do, in fact, enjoy the sense of anonymity this city allows me, but i am a have-my-cake-and-eat-it-too crybaby.
and, well, i miss my friends and my forests.