Listening to Summer Camp... lots of warped hazy tones.
Looking forward to the rest of their sounds off their Young EP

SUMMER CAMP - Round the Moon from Paddy Power on Vimeo.

Summer Camp - Ghost Train (viral) from Paddy Power on Vimeo.

Yesterday
Woke early. Adventures through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
Discovered Crestone, a remote town of angry hippies.
Revisited Sand Dunes.
Warmth from the sun on my face, dry air keeping my back cool, and the buzzing of bugs on trails.
I continually reaffirm that the west is my home.

Today
Early morning, the cats tackled each other and occasionally jumped around my head.
I woke several times but knew I wasn't ready.
Each time my eyes opened, I would watch as the sun filled and brightened the bedroom.
By 8am I was ready.
By 9am, simple pleasures: chocolate milk.
By noon, happy discovery: root beer milk.
By 1pm, 85 degrees F, getting ready to go to Spruce Mountain.

Thinking about…
Polaroids, wanting to shoot more,
buying and shooting super-8 film,
trip to NYC at end of October to see Sean,
buying new non-plastic frames for my face,
how tasty this root beer milk is…


source: my polaroids

source: my flickr

I love this song.

16mm color film, extremely overexposed with lots of blur.
Footage is my own. Shot with an Eclair. Subject is my sister.
I never found a sound I wanted to pair if with until now.

and what the hell do you think you can decide upon, act upon, or base your personal philosophy upon if at the sight of a tall reticent poetic genius you feel sick, tense, excited, overthrown, eager, wanting to redeem horrible infirmary impression, hot and cold, and desperately near tears.

where, where, to find that quality I long for that will grow goodly and green for fifty years – is it mind??
God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts. The doubts of past convictions only cast aspersions present assurances and maliciously suggest that those, too, shall pass into the realm of the null and void.

–and then tonight the sight of the poetic one, the wanting . . . what? to conquer? to talk? this first . . . after the "don't kill me when you make love to me" . . . echoing in my ears.

oh a love growing sharing would be so good, so uncomplex. and in these rapid most complex days of speed, mood, and psychology, it is relatively impossible to "know" anyone, as it is impossible to "know" oneself.

one relies so on single symbols which supposedly presage large assumptions. he goes to ballets ergo, he must be sensitive & artistic. he quotes poetry, ergo he must be a kindred spirit. he reads joyce, ergo he must be a genius.

I am in danger of wanting my personal absolute to be a demigod of a man, and as there aren't many around, I often unconsciously manufacture my own. and then, I retreat and revel in poetry and literature where the reward value is tangible and accepted. I really do not think deeply. really deeply. I want a romantic nonexistent hero.

If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it. I want to live hard and good with a hard, good man. clean brilliant and strong is how and with whom I want to live. and tonight, oh god, I think that I am mortal, unthinking, unworthy – and that men on the fringe are too far off in time and space and too like unloved and faithless, and though love be a day, I am afraid it will be only that; and though love be a day, I am afraid also that it will be more.

– Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath











source: Contemporary Photography: Emmet Gowin