perdition does not belong here

find skulls and write poems
barefoot
in the back seat
staring at me through the rearview mirror
catch the hazel
put it on your page
break the skin where i've mended it
tell me it's for the best

drown my handmade pottery with your coffee
and your smoke
tease your tongue with the air that touches me
you hold it there while
you take such lovely photos
of the bottoms of the people that
try so hard to look their best
for you.

you paint pretty pictures of old women
whose wrinkles resemble lines drawn in
sand
the sand you find in North Ontario.
They were bred by long nights
short days
Born from moments when life is
where you can only reach it on your tippy-toes.

There's a stick and a sling and both can help
keep you together for now.
Instead you take nothing for yourself
and give me that last little bit of whatever it is
you've been saving.
And you've saved it for so long in your back pocket
where you found the button that belongs to
some old cardigan your papa had
when your papa still was.

You tell me you live to
be here
And here is a place riddled with laugh lines
and yellow finger tips
and people i've never met
and will never meet.
why must you be selfless
with those things you cherish.
keep them
for yourself.
keep me for yourself.

You travel like a man penetrating the walls
of Petra.
What guards you does not stop you
and then i ask how you can be like
that man we used to talk about
who never let anyone
touch his papa's cardigan.

And now my friends are telling me
how lovely my new sweater is.
But I rest where this fabric rests
And wonder what lives in your back pocket,
now.

it was not good enough, Beethoven

"..until the stars began to fall from the sky
and it looked like the entire universe..
had begun to cry."

shake the dust

Everytime I write I'm cutting out parts of myself just to give them to you.

And the hippos were boiled in their tanks

Camping on the beach in Port Stanley is about as close to camping on the ocean as an urban dweller like myself gets to experience nowadays. No time for the jet setting since work's rude and untimely interference is imminent. I've taken to the road in Bonnie (who by the way needs new brake pads, an oil change, ball joints, and whatever else my broken wallet can afford).

Wave of mutulation

^{Ardene Headband ** Thrifted Sunglasses ** Thrifted cut off shorts ** Thrifted Boots}

Bluesfest, boozefest, brofest

Here are some photos from this year's festival, featuring hipster santa, skid squatter, skid creepers, eccentric dress lady, tatted mid-lifer, bands, and friends and beer.

Summer Buck

Nelly of Familytreeland.com and future roomie of yours truly has now arrived in Ottawack. Though since his arrival there's less wackness in town and more radness. Aside from the lingering bromance found in these photos there's also an abundance of alcohol, an aroma of our choosing for the last few days. Day drunk evidence is available here. Trendy Pants Becca, Trudeau, Jesse Nelson and myself give summer buck our best shot.

British Columbia, where the boys have long hair and the girls like other girls

^{Tj * Kits Beach * kickin' it}

^{Bailey Mitchell fills up at Pow Mountain Base}

I've humbly returned to Ottawa in one piece, yet parts of me are simultaneously existing on the best coast and here. I know I belong out West and in the near future I'll reside there once more. But for now I'll bite my nails, try to remain present in my current situation, and smile when I am granted the gift of bubble wrap and other simple pleasures, regardless of location.

Shutter Flutter

They went to Santa Fe

^{thrifted top * thrifted vintage levi's DYI cut off shorts * thrifted shoes * thrifted bag}