b. 1994

15 years old, Christmas holidays by the sea.

Ruby, Michael and Fela ~ St Kilda Beach | Melbourne | Australia

Christmas season ~ Melbourne, Australia

Back in the warm embrace of the lucky country and seeing home with a new set of eyes I acquired in New York.

Merry Christmas!

New York – Seoul – Melbourne

I looked down at one point, saw what appeared to be the spine of the world and realised beyond doubt, that one day I would make my way to Siberia.

New York, New York. December 11, 2009 – Last subway ride to class for the year.

Semester 1 done at ICP. How time flies…
Time to make my way back to hot, sunny Australia to spend Christmas scantily-clad on the beach, just as the first biting winds of Winter descend on the city and freeze me to the bone.

Perfect timing, as far as I’m concerned…

We took the No.12 to some place
then the 14
somewhere west
of there

this deep in the flowery grass

we gave up waiting
for the No.5
and took the 23

the crickety mound where the season sings

having missed the No.3
which was early
we managed to catch
the 15
which was late
and took us as far as

one green island, one gas tank, graffitied

that most accustomed of places:
the outermost edge
of things.

~ “Romantic Voyage” by Gregory O’Brien

Driving into Warrensville past Our Lady Queen of Peace
My old friend Tommy says “We still got that at least.”
Fifty six years old. Years of junk and speed and crack.
Tommy says, “Dooley, you know sometimes I think I’m not coming back.”
Pulled into Gaby’s. Drank and talked till way past dark.
Tommy says, “Jesus didn’t die alone. You can read it in Luke or Mark
But sometimes I can’t hardly breathe I feel so alone.”
I say. “Tommy, I got to leave.” Roll back stone.

~ “Warrensville 2″ by Joe Green

Don’t let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don’t try
Don’t let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there’s a strength that lies

Don’t let your soul get lonely child
It’s only time, it will go by
Don’t look for love in faces, places
It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don’t lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don’t put your trust in walls
‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

~ Ray Lamontagne

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it—–

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——-

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot ——
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart—
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—-

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

~ Sylvia Plath

I swear to God, I heard the Earth inhale,
moments before it spat its rain down on me.
I swear to God, in this light and on this evening,
London’s become, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.

~ Editors

Most frequently used route… From the subterranean depths of the International Centre of Photography to the underground warren of the NY subway and finally, to the above ground sanctuary of my abode.