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“i lick the gun when i’m done because you know that revenge is sweet.”


BODYSUIT by Nasty Gal
BAG by Paul’s Boutique

Make up and hair by Factory Girl
Photos by Beth Kotz and Cachet Retsos

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wash up to shore.

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a calm morning is my slow wash up to the shore. i rise from the depth of the ocean where my perspective is safely tucked away.

as i lock my apartment door and turn around to face the world, i begin to sort out my beliefs for the day:

today i won’t crouch down when a man cat calls.
today i won’t raise my voice when misunderstood.
today i won’t back down when i’m tired.

my perspective draws the dividing line between my little lake that’s attempting to connect itself to the ocean ahead of me. because perspective is exactly the kind of thing that always gets us in trouble. we escape the rain, avoid the thunder, hide in a whiteout- all to keep our perspective safe and untouched.

we come ashore from time to time and are faced with the contradicting perspectives of others. it’s discouraging, to say the least, that everyone’s unique life experiences rarely inspire them to share lessons learned, but rather they argue for one point of view and one point of view only. to be right, to be superior, is the goal. to connect lakes, oceans, perspectives, and intelligences is lost in transition.

“perspective. it’s what shuts out the universe. everyone with their little perspective.”


TOP by Front Row
SHORTS by Front Row

Make up and hair by Katy Ramirez
Photos by Beth Kotz and Cachet Retsos

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silence can be productive. your unspoken words have the ability to congest the atmosphere just as air particles invisible to the eye still exist. but productivity isn’t always positive. just as a sour look on your lover’s face, though hard at work, is still backtracking. your conscious uses silence to play games with the minds of those around it, like a child dragging its feet on the ground on the way to the doctor.

your silence breaks through invisible barriers because it just has that kind of power.


TOP by Shelfies

Photos by Beth Kotz

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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.


SHORTS by Nasty Gal

Photos by Beth Kotz

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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.



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.)



Photos by Sam Doyle

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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.


HAT by Too Ugly for LA

Photos by Tyke Riggs

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