Paris 
Post-parade, maybe. But never post-Pride. 

photo by Loren Daye

Paris 

Post-parade, maybe. But never post-Pride. 

photo by Loren Daye


Los Angeles
This edition of Mugshot Monday comes to you from the photobooth at Ace DTLA. 
photo by @anneontherun

Los Angeles

This edition of Mugshot Monday comes to you from the photobooth at Ace DTLA. 

photo by @anneontherun


“I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.” — Truman Capote

“I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.” — Truman Capote


Portland + Los Angeles
The American poet Norman Dubie says that what gives poetry so much freedom is that no one gets rich off writing it. Passion, and expressive language, drive poems into the world. 
Poetry is unique among artforms because it uses as its medium the building blocks of all communication, and, more or less, the building blocks of thought: language. Poetry uses language to communicate something that is beyond language, which is weird and causes things to be at once both what they are and so very much more than they are. 
At its most minimal, language speaks to us on two levels: it communicates raw info and it communicates contextual feelings and directions about that info. In the 1960s and ’70s, Aram Saroyan was mining this linguistic landscape to much notoriety — and infamy. His poem, “lighght,” exploded the idea of what a poem even is. 
And as the tattoo here illuminates, it’s still exploding ideas right down to the skin. This left hand belongs to another poet, Zachary Schomburg, who writes notes on his hands when he’s not collaborating and touring with musicians and filmmakers and making the sincerest surrealist books since sliced pages.

Portland Los Angeles

The American poet Norman Dubie says that what gives poetry so much freedom is that no one gets rich off writing it. Passion, and expressive language, drive poems into the world. 

Poetry is unique among artforms because it uses as its medium the building blocks of all communication, and, more or less, the building blocks of thought: language. Poetry uses language to communicate something that is beyond language, which is weird and causes things to be at once both what they are and so very much more than they are. 

At its most minimal, language speaks to us on two levels: it communicates raw info and it communicates contextual feelings and directions about that info. In the 1960s and ’70s, Aram Saroyan was mining this linguistic landscape to much notoriety — and infamy. His poem, “lighght,” exploded the idea of what a poem even is. 

And as the tattoo here illuminates, it’s still exploding ideas right down to the skin. This left hand belongs to another poet, Zachary Schomburg, who writes notes on his hands when he’s not collaborating and touring with musicians and filmmakers and making the sincerest surrealist books since sliced pages.


To me style is just the outside of content, and content the inside of style, like the outside and the inside of the human body — both go together, they can’t be separated. — Jean-Luc Godard

To me style is just the outside of content, and content the inside of style, like the outside and the inside of the human body — both go together, they can’t be separated. — Jean-Luc Godard


Action is what it takes. Together it gets better. 

Action is what it takes. Together it gets better. 


Some folks don’t have dads and some folks do. Some folks are good at names and some folks aren’t. Every now and again, mr. man in black speaks to all those folks at once. 


Los Angeles, CA 

Secret sharing: we like Cabin 207 in the old City of Angels. Kristen Shaw helms the ship at Cabin, styling and curating and making people feel like the whole world is smiling right along with them. Recently Cabin had a release reading for Matt Austin’s book, The Shape of Spilled Milk. Kristen was kind enough to write some words inspired by Matt’s work and their friendship:

given my current thought process, my hands are allowing me to type this story to you. 

so hi, i’m glad we’ve finally met.

you may not really know who I am, but we share two of the very same things. 

my hands + your hands. 

when i was a kid, 10 years old or so, i used to draw log cabins. i tried to make these as intricate as possible, securing my position to design the future home we would build. 

I remember drawing the same home over and over again. practice makes perfect and perfect makes perfection. Could my hand actually draw the same thing twice? 

So the thing is, I didn’t know what the most perfect home looked like, or the most perfect love to put in it. But i somehow trusted what i could do with my hands.

And, sometimes, my hands just go. they take off and i don’t have a second to think about where they are going or what they are making. 

 I do know what it looks like. 

I know what this feels like.

 I don’t know how to get there, 

I don’t know the formula, 

i don’t know what its like to do things the perfect way.

16 years later from the first day I drew a log cabin, I can write to you from mine. We make things here, we tell stories, we love, we listen, and welcome you to create and bring alive something you’ve always wanted to build. Every day I do this, I have this heartbeat that keeps a pulse so strong that I need people even stronger to be limbs to keep this moving. That’s where Matt Austin comes in for me. An old friend of mine from when we were merely 16, chatting on the Myspace about a contribution I asked him to make to a book I was putting together of collected midwestern artist’s work. We shifted and sifted through the years living in different places until I found him sitting in my cabin two weeks ago, reading stories, sharing goosebumps, making people cry.

How loud is your desire?

we innately float to the most beautiful places when instincts are trusted, movements make free motion, and you create what you feel is true—not because you’re told to, not because its perfect, but because when pressing bones, you’ll always know where to go. 


It’s called a strawberry moon, honey. And it’s bottom-right up there and tonight. 

It’s called a strawberry moon, honey. And it’s bottom-right up there and tonight. 


May today begin the weekend for all of us. 


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