01. new year. same me.

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hello 2017,

your mailbox must by full. don’t worry. this is not a new year’s resolution. a statement of what i hope to improve upon. an amount or measurement of time, money, or weight. this is just me. the same me, ready for hikes of self exploration. additional decisions. imaginative growth. and much more content. (i hope to have daily videos this week!)┬ájust me. swaying to some 45 degree breeze and that famous tourist gaze. all witnessing a girl posing in public flower beds. also sneezing after twenty minutes in a park and suddenly wondering if maybe possibly she is allergic to said plants. *false alarm* just me. sitting in the leaves with this vintage jumpsuit and loafers from the frequented goodwill. not much has changed. and to the calendar replaced with an updated arrangement of numbers… it’s nice to meet you.

xoxo,

mute style

Fauna and Freedom

my book of dead and dying things. maybe i should write your name amongst the petals and leaves. the pressure of ink and synonyms for brooding. thinking. remembering. the placid whisper of northbound breeze. the sleeping fauna. the grasses teasing my knees. my shoulders master the weight of a week. weak. the kind of stem that bends with the strain of romanticizing. harder to overcome than the pressure against my hipbone. sit an interval. delay. blink the mounds of rock dust. swallow the scene. Continue reading

Whatever Leaves

next. i nodded towards the maps at the ticket booth and asked, “what train leaves next?” he seemed amused. “i just want to get away for the day,” i added. he shook his head with a grin and said the san bernardino line. impromptu getaway to suburban los angeles. i bought my fare and made my way to the platform. i befriended a dog while waiting and explained my journey to the owner. “i didn’t know people your age do that,” she said. “so where are you planning on going?” i glanced at the map with a shrug. Continue reading

Surf Report

swell. the homograph stirs in my smile and splashes the morning boards. swell. hair in my glasses somewhere between santa monica and venice. the carefree. the calm. rippled in a silver threads windbreaker. the bounce in my stride. stepping happiness with clouded sunshine. fidgeting with my 12x camera while twirling a “you look lovely” marigold. Continue reading

The Wind

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the sluggishness of the past week was colored by coffee shops, Bob Dylan, and writing one-sided love on the moon. comfort in lies she knew. her snug spilled milk sheets at noon. a song remaining in her mind. she was not a singer. but when she decided to sing, she bled Pocahontas colors of the wind. she escaped the sorrow that others rested upon her, a lacking of mutual awareness. she held the truth between her ticketed lips; love is not the jealously or entitlement that comes from a desperation for love in return. for her, one-sided love is fair. Continue reading