youth lagoon

montana from jean dagger

cannons from trevor powers

via vimeo, as found/heard from the killing moon, i dig it.

these videos remind me coming in from the heat of july, AC on, lying on a couch eating a popsicle, and feeling my pink skin tingle because i spent too much time in the sun earlier that day. but maybe now replace the iced treat with iced gin.

hazy lazy days, here i am painting my nails and eating fresh peaches.

first date

porto katsiki, a beginning

slightly hungover and the waft of cigarettes hits my stomache. i'm watching the old man, he peers out from his glasses at every passerbye in the slow harbour. i'm begging for a coffee but i can't handle it at the moment, so i buy some ripe red plums instead.
trying to pile it all up, this island, this tiny moment, just a handful of days but i can barely hold them all at once. how can you be so solid and soft all at once.

i like best the smells. the soft honeysuckle on the walk back to mine, and your cologne warm and woodsy, and the salty hot air that floats down from the mountains. your skin always warm from the heat of the day, and we are kissing under the moon, hello moon.

forgetting to fill the van with gas, i'm nervous next to you. but i'm eating all the strawberries and laughing, and your voice calms me. finally getting to the white stone beach, but forgetting your towel and sharing mine. i'm topless and the ocean is icy cold, washing over, and over.
the air is moist in the morning and you open the shutters for me as i peer out with one eye. sunlight and green light and grey light, but i fall back asleep and my dreams are never happy. i pull the sheet over tight.
we are always driving, windows open wide and dry heat. i'm staring at hilltops and treetops and the sky just keeps getting bigger as we glide around corners, i'm watching you shift from the corner of my eye. i'm watching your hands and your body, so confident in every move. driving up, right into the sun. and then we are lying under the stars and i'm telling you how much i wish i knew their names but i don't, maybe one day i will.

falling asleep with the light on

the sun, like razers slicing through my tiny hangover. he suddenly yanks down the blinds, but it's too late.

the sun, that fucking sun, the best of me and the worst and these sounds on this particuclar morning here remind me of college street in the spring. trucks and streetcars, rumbling past my stupid, gigantic bay window, but then i didn't have blinds. just wispy white curtains meant to soften my days as i wake, instead i am punched in the face with the recycling truck, and then portugese women yelling two floors down. i'm lazy and unsure.

i'm still unsure.

31 days past

from toronto, and cross the sea, and i'm home.