Book. Books. Bird on heroin. Word. Words. Fish on line. Flowers on wallpaper.

How fragile we are. How delicate our bones. How small we are. Walking along the beach, stooping down to examine a salmon jaw bone that has been weathered by sand and surf, and bleached by the sun, thinking that time didn’t make the symmetry of this perfect jawline. Then you remember that perfect lines are…

Why are you sitting under that tree by yourself on such a frigid and damp Friday night? Are you listening for the crowd? I mean literally, are you listening FOR the crowd all sopping wet. It is sound that makes us seem larger than life to ourselves, a cycle of silence so aversive in numbers.…

Writing is a dream. When I am in the process of forming a thought onto paper, what is actually conveyed is not what I’ve heard but what I’ve seen. It is positivity that I’ve witnessed today. Images over time that culminate in a picture that can be described but only in the seconds before it…

Thanks for joining me! Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton