Really, a hill at best. But it spills out into the ocean in the laziest, most reverie-inducing expanse of sand i know.
29.7.11
Morse Mountain.
Really, a hill at best. But it spills out into the ocean in the laziest, most reverie-inducing expanse of sand i know.
28.7.11
25.7.11
19.7.11
Summer, Summer.
Carrying around a film camera has transformed my world. Every shadow is a weird sundial, shot down from rooftops in a jagged silhouette or drooling from the base of a parking meter, running over the curb, pooling hazily in the street. Each morning the shadows begin this charming crawl up one side of the city and down the other, and when i'm lucky i get to freeze some of those choicest shadows, and the light that borders them, on a funny slip of paper. Push a button, and this heavy little camera, this shining, impossibly complex toy, makes a heart-rending sound, like a pair of scissors closing on a woodblock, and retools life into nostalgia.
These days don't pass so much as accumulate, soundtracked by something like the papery, claustrophobic rustling of a record needle, frankly unconcerned whether the music is over or hasn't yet begun.
14.7.11
4th Of July/ Graflex Cometh
And, thankfully, the Graflex at least works, laying any and all inadequacy solely on the operator.
9.7.11
1.7.11
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