tonight i asked a girl i work with if i could photograph her in her underwear. she seemed confused and said "for what? ...like, art or something". and i said "yea, art....or something".

an old bike in front of the barn near the house i used to live in. some old blacktop over the earth where i once saw a snake coiled, moving slowly and deliberately but with little effort. lying awake at night hoping to awake to the sound of feral puppies crying underneath the floorboards, their mother killed in some tragic accident. reaching, scared, needing and not knowing how to take. old houses breathe around you. my father once expressed the utmost disgust for people who try to install insulation in old houses. "they can't breathe anymore if you do that" he'd say. my parents' house has this room that's always been called "the no-no room" for as long as the house has been in our family (must be something like 100 years by now). I'm assuming it was once a formal dining room where no children were to be caught. at this point it's just filled with memories no one has time to organize. there's an old piano in there that doesn't fit out the door. i think my grandmother said they had to break a wall down to get it in there. i think i consider it the heart of the house, but i don't know anymore.

it makes me crazy to think of the people i've shared little parts of myself with. i want to take it all back. i want to gather up all those things i've given away and bury them in the woods with voodoo dolls. everything seems to be on someone else's terms. people make you do things and make it seem like it was your own idea. that's the skill of manipulation in practice. a person can only take so many derailments before she jumps off the train for good. pretending to be selfless is even more unappealing than being openly selfish; even animals know they have to take what they want.

internet harvestings.