I don't know if it's a sign of growing old, of increasing wisdom, or just plain lazy resignation when I begin to accept more and more that no matter how much I plan, it is accidents that determine the detours in my life. Like this softly livid sunset I took with my iPhone (as with the other photos in this post), which at that time served as unexpected forgiveness after an afternoon of self-loathing.
Yes, there are shameless self-portraits here, in the most un-picturesque of places. This taken last November, seemingly stress-free because of reliably merciful washroom lighting. But again sleepless because of a new venture.
Mostly there are cracks and chinks in our daily routine; no everyday fireworks. But these minor disruptions are what weathers stone principles.
I don't think I was able to document this outfit last year, with the same bomber. Beanie and uniform black a sign of a strained schedule (shopping with my sister). Though I believe it was the first time I thought of wearing my steel cuff on the hem of my sleeve.
I think I lost my first copy of this book when I was in New York. Bought another one, a revised translation, months after. It takes some practice to hold a thought while multi-tasking (for fear of losing an idea), but more so when holding a story in your head while putting down a novel, or a book of poems, to make way for the relentless rush of days that becomes more surreal when things become more urgent.
Of course, it is heat and pressure (or years of sedimentation) that produces the most beautiful of minerals.
But I can't say for sure at the moment that things are going anywhere. Still learning my way through (though I am getting the hang of it). (This cameo from last July.)