fuck.

The skies are grey and I'm thinking of you, lover.

You lover, who keeps me safe, but
who keeps me walking on eggshells.
You. Lover, why do you do this to me?

Who is lover?

Lover, whom I take care of.
Lover, the one I put to sleep at night.
Lover, the girl I wake up in the morning, the one I feed.
The Man I let sleep next to me.
The woman on the train who needs help.

The burden of a thousand books on my outstretched arms. Lover, the one I see through the 80 millimeter lens. The one I focus on, the one I breath for and takes my breath away.

Lover, who are you, and when will you leave me alone?
How can I wish to be self sustained,
on the other hand of the clock,
wish you here, completely stained. Waiting for me. To save the day.
Why must I subsist on the weight of others' problems?

What has happened to my life? What has happened to the joyous days
the days of carefree, the days of late night sunsets and early morning joints.

The skies are grey now, and as they remain this way
it slowly takes away from me. It slowly drains the blood from my body.
I return home catching tears before they fall,
trying so hard to make things right,

never. right?

Someday I'll sail forever. Someday I will fly.
Someday not today I will not drag you around, lover.
Someday lover will be nothing but my own reflection.

With such gravity, my feet take steps
Back and forth, sped up, slowly taking.
Waiting to fall and hit my head on the cement,
just to bleed and feel to remember I'm still human.

Lover, you make me a machine
Saving everything, saving you, losing me.
Lover, who are you and what do you want?
Please fly away and don't return. Let me stay behind

capturing what I please, this fake reality.
Staying in the dark, waves washing over,
and revealing only the truth I believe to see.

Art and everything else in life.

1. Art.

Who is to say what I can and cannot do with my own art? I'll decide what is and isn't exploitive.

2. I like to see and experiment with different social identities. I don't find it weird that I can change myself and mold myself consciously to see how others will react. Okay, maybe other people don't do that? I don't know. Someone fill me in. I have been having a mild identity crisis lately. What is an identity crisis anyway? Is it looking in the mirror and not recognizing your very own face? Is it not knowing who you are to others? Is it not knowing how you will react to something? Is it when you surprise yourself by actions that you are doing, and you don't expect to be doing them in that particular way? Am I being heinously vague? I don't remember the shape of my nose being like it is. I don't remember acting like my Dad does to things. I don't remember my eyes being this color. Maybe I never paid attention. Maybe I've changed. Maybe I like feeling like I'm in a new skin constantly. I think I am changing and growing as a human that is existing, and then reaching beyond simply existing and expanding. Not literally expanding, by the way. Expanding your openness, expanding your peripherals to perceive more than you're used to is what I mean.

I, at the same current time, am completely happy knowing the people I know and am really, truly enjoying life as it comes my way. I am excited to be at school being pushed beyond my comfort zone and reaching depths of my photography that I didn't know existed. The hasselblad doesn't hurt the cause, either ;-)

People in Chicago are fucking rude sometimes. But, all in all I love it here.