limited vision.

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“everything’s connected by light” is carved into an unpolished piece of wood above her doorway. this statement isn’t so much a theory as it is her admission that things really are as simple as they seem. that the solid ground underneath her feet is nothing but an intersection of reflections- but its physical appearance is what adds the drama. and that’s usually the case. the limited human vision creates drama by making the solid seem unchangeable, unmovable, unadaptive. but a shaky light reflection coming through her bedroom window and dancing on the dresser against the wall reminds her that everything is in constant movement, including what seems to be her unproductive limbs. there’s room to change and be changed. even the calmest of the calm vibrate to avoid getting behind.

xx

SHORTS by Nasty Gal

Photos by Beth Kotz

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funnel.

queer fashion blogfashion blogqueer fashionthe worn out - style blogstreetwear fashion blogstreetwearfashion blogfashion blogfashion blogstyle blogstreetwear

she is a brave girl. ready for the kill.

but her opposing thoughts frequently pass one another in the long, winding hallway that is her mind, glancing at each other with judgement, then going in for the kill. her thoughts, with a puffed up chest and a brave look in their eye, melt and fuse together, combining into an inception she did not realize could be a product of her own brain. maybe her mind is turning against her. but who’s watching.

she likes to call it bad karma for saying the wrong things sometimes, in the form of anxiety genes passed down from her uninvolved father, flowing in and out of her body at their leisure, grabbing her brain cells by the throat and forcing their weak mechanism into a funnel with only one destination: back to where she started. the doctor likes to call it anxiety. depression. disorder of the mind. but who’s keeping count.

xx

HAND-MADE CROCHET TOP by Horizon’s Ed3e
HAND-MADE LEG CHAIN by Chad Popour

Photos by Cachet

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the haunting.

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(i remember the ease of your smile. like sunday morning. when we’d lay a blanket out on the grass. the soft breeze brushing the hair off your face, letting the haunting pass.)

good grades, college, graduation. none of it mattered as long as we could score that $1 hot dog at the stand today.

(i remember when things weren’t so good. you’d pace back and forth in our tiny apartment, saying things on the phone i never understood. if i could close my ears i would.)

tuesdays meant cruising through a dollar store with a crisp $1 bill in hand and endless possibilities ahead.

(i remember when we moved. there was hope floating in the breeze, retracting the haunting with every mile. your lips slowly cooperating back into a gentle smile.)

the haunting nonetheless brushed your little limbs in and held your smile captive. your afflictions became wrinkles. your strength lost in transition.

(now sundays lack ease. the strands of your hair are too heavy for the breeze.)

xx

RAVEN’S SHROUD HOODED GOWN by House of Widow
CUSTOM SHOULDER CHAINS by Chad Popour

Photos by Sam Doyle

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observatory.

fashion bloggershookafashion bloggerworn out blogworn out blogworn out blogfront row shopfashion bloggerfront row shoptoo ugly for la

it occurred to me the other day that i like playing the observant. so i followed my appetite to the riverside where she resides. to sit back and watch her work. to offer nothing but stillness in the air.

my observant tendencies speak of nothing but my sole desire to focus on her every shift of atmosphere. my agenda avoids variations because she is the only sight that i crave.

i salivate at this anticipation.

i follow the path along the river but don’t make myself too visible. the stale taste in my mouth keeps me grounded; i shan’t lose sight of my goal.

as i walk i imagine the salt of her skin staining my indulgent lips. the sweet taste of fatality. a front row perseverance. an observatory.

xx

HAT by Too Ugly for LA
HOODED JACKET by Front Row

Photos by Tyke Riggs

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stagnating.

paul's boutique paul's boutique paul's boutiquepaul's boutiquepaul's boutique the worn outworn outpaul's boutique ltd the worn out blog paul's boutique

i sat on your doorstep and kept my mouth shut until my words ran in so many circles inside my head that they tired themselves out—at least momentarily. i tried to distract myself by counting the brick steps carrying my weight. but my stubborn words always win, suggesting that maybe thoughts never leave the body until physically released. the ghost of my overflowing thought pattern beams over my shoulder; i am a slave to my own predicament. my words, stagnating in a chaotic fashion, assemble and reassemble on top of one another until a string of three words merely slip out of my modest lips: i love you.

x

NICOLE METALLIC BEIGE BAG by Paul’s Boutique
STRAPPY TOP by H&M

Photos by Sam Doyle

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weeping sky.

the worn outbatoko clothingbatoko clothingworn out blog0001509_0001509-R1-E020worn out blogthe worn outbatoko clothingthe worn outDX_18DX_35DX_24DX_250001509_0001509-R1-E0350001509_0001509-R1-E036the worn out0001509_0001509-R1-E0170001509_0001509-R1-E019solid white lines pave the direction of cars. parallel streets glisten to the weeping sky. stop lights follow the rules: the repeating pattern of green, yellow and red.

a girl walking aimlessly on the sidewalk drops her umbrella and runs to the middle of the street. there are no cars as far as she can see on either side. with an open chest and and a transparent heart, she puts her arms up and sympathizes with the weeping sky above.

x

DOPE SWEATER by Batoko
TARTAN MAXI SKIRT by Motel

Photos by Beth Kotz

 

 

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a beautiful blur.

orphan's armsthe orphan's armsorphan's armsworn out blogorphan's armshttp://www.theorphansarms.comorphan's armsworn out blog

gravity feels heavier when she’s around. her heart carries a lot of yesterday, making her insides plummet at the sight of weakness.

her set of tea for two sits untouched on the roof. heavy winds blow her hand-painted napkins away. the gravel sticks to the bottom of her shoes as she makes her way closer to the edge of the roof. she doesn’t have much of a plan, she never really has. untying her shoe laces, she continues looking straight ahead.

she holds everything inside her. but this time it all plummeted to the ground. a rare sight to see. her lover makes his way up the ladder to the roof to find this dismantled sight. a beautiful blur. gravity has won at last.

x

TEA FOR TWO SWEATSHIRT by Orphan’s Arms

Photos by Cezar

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