la gitana

This morning I woke up ( after an eight hour wrestle with insomnia ) wanting nothing more than to just disappear. How irresponsible and shameful would it be to cut all ties, load some bangles onto my wrists and head nowhere fast? They'd call me a gypsy, and they'd wish their routes were unchartered and their lives unmapped, like mine.

... an exquisitely sexy and glamourous gypsy, nonetheless.... should get me far. first stop: sur america.

esa es la realidad: vivir en tonos azules. añoro por ti, argentina.

Images courtesy of: 4th and Bleeker and So much to tell you

home home?

Isn't it funny that whenever we have a shred of doubt  in answering a question, we have a tendency to repeat the word twice in order to clear things up? for example: Q:--when are you going home? (ambiguous... san luis obispo home, or danville home?)

A:--home home?

or...

Q:--what time will you be done with your work? (ambiguous...  job work, school work, or just-for-fun work?)

A:--which work... work work?

Really though, now you'll notice it everywhere, and you'll realize that there is really no reason that repeating a word should offer any insight or enlightenment. But somehow this little echo usually renders the desired clarification -- how very, very strange. strange.

All this talk of echos makes me want to leave my work work and go out and explore some caves.

Southern France for spring break, anyone?

Images courtesy of: Pinterest and The New Yorker

agnes thor

Swedish photographer Agnes Thor has a way of capturing the most sincere states of emotion, memory, and vulnerability. Her repertoire revolves around  images of natural, idyllic environments and creates art that reflects past memories and the creationof new ones. The first three are part of a series titled "Broken Promises". They literally left me speechless. Understanding, empathetic, and speechless.

It's nice to know that loneliness is a universal feeling, and that even a day full of "broken promises" spends half it's hours in the light.

Images courtesy of: agnes thor

pass the Coppertone, would ya?

I just became painfully aware of the number of times I haven't seen the ocean over the last three months. Living this close to sandy shores, and not getting a fresh breath of sea salt every morning should be a crime. Thus, my punishment ensues by envying these sensationally happy sea-goers from indoors - while browsing for a sweet vintage bathing costume like Zooey's.

She's just too much, isn't she?

Images courtesy of life photo archive and Pinterest

Not so ancient ruins

My Mediterranean heritage has trained me to have a one tracked mind as it perpetually dictates the phrase Greece equals Beauty. This beauty lies on the beaches during sunset, is summated by every dark and handsomely tan man, and resonates in the Glory that is lamb-based food. It's the ancient world that still feels the wind through its marble cracks, and stands proud - but not quite tall - in fields of ruins. After seeing these photos by French photographers Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre, I am humbly corrected. It is not a necessary condition of a ruin to be ancient in order to be beautiful. I give you: Detroit. Frozen in time.

If this last photo of the melting clock doesn't scream Dali, then I don't know what does.

Makes me wonder about the stories behind these rooms. Who lived there, who loved there. Who worked, ached, thought, and succeeded there. It seems that ruins don't only come from European mediterranean climates - the chilly midwest is home to some seriously gorgeous treasures.

Images courtesy of The Denver Post

a white and black heart attack.

Even though our furry groundhog friend warned us that spring was right around the corner over a month ago, I keep finding myself chin deep under the covers. With no pressing plans this cold March night, I find myself comfortably lost in Rodney Smith's grey hues. somebody call the doctor - these photographs are making my heart stop.

all images courtesy of pinterest