my house (the moon)

 oakland. january 2013.

dawn sky sunday

oakland. march 2012.

yellow, through green

oakland. january 2012.

still in love with wires and street lamps. still intrigued by back-lit leaves. still looking up.

late dawn, winter desert

mojave desert. november 2010.

happy winter solstice!

amongst the weeds (towers in the distance)

east of mount tongariro, north island, new zealand. april 2011.

mojave

Mojave Desert. 2010.

This is facing south, with the Kelso Sand Dunes behind me. Shortly after daybreak.

Night Sun

Prince Street, Berkeley. 2010.

Divided Sky

Davis, CA. 2010.

Looking up from Megan's backyard, on a hot day in Davis.

East Bay Sky

Oakland. 2010.

Reaching Down

Berkeley. 2009.

To The South, Clouds

Home. 2010.

My first picture with my new lens. Too zoomed in, out of focus. Those blurry lights in the distance are downtown Oakland.

Structure

Mojave Desert. 2009.

Back When the Weather Was Nice

66th Street, somewhere between Berkeley and Oakland. 2009.

Wires Again

Deakin Street, Berkeley. 2009.

Have I mentioned that I like wires? Their tangle and weave? The way they divide the sky into fractions and parcels and vast swaths of blue, peach, lavender, orange, seashell pink?

I do. I like the connectedness they state, the interdependency; I even, on occasion, like the buzz that falls down from their tight perches.

But I also think they're ugly and should be put underground, at least within cities. They are a remnant of loosely structured municipalities and unincorporated land, of a time that doesn't exist anymore, at least not here. We don't have room to be unorganized anymore.

Lofts + Retail

East LA (the gentrified part, not the scary part). 2009.

Sitting outside in the sun, supposedly doing work for a group meeting. Really just shooting the shit, boasting about how much work we all have, feeling the sun on our faces, slowly getting too hot.

Ran into someone I knew from Boston. We talked for a few minutes, caught up. I love it when the world feels like a small place.

(I miss LA.)

I made a lover's prayer

Mojave. 2009.

A poem, inspired by Gillian Welch's "I made a lover's prayer."


the sharp, sweet ache of loneliness slides into me
it has its own tang
like blood on the tongue

fall is come to wrap me in its arms of early dusk

there isn't anyone else.
not the man that i dream of;
not that man that i hope for.
there isn't anyone else.

Dawn in the Mojave

Dawn woke me up.

I was sleeping in the Mojave Desert, on my way to Utah. I hadn't bothered to set up my tent, which meant that star, and then moon, and then sunlight was bright enough to wake me. I was completely alone--the nearest road was six miles away, where I could hear an occasional car sling past.

The wire towers had hummed, loudly, last night. They were still going when I fell asleep, just three hours after dark--5:30 p.m. in early November. But when the moon rose, I slowly realized that I couldn't hear a sound. The wires were quiet, and so was everything else. As I listened, a few small animal sounds skittered toward me, or away, and then were gone. The emptiness of sound was complete.