Last few weeks in no particular order. A forseeable move to the river lands and catskills or farmland within the next few months so i find myself dearly taking photos of this little home, for what it has been this year past to us. Carried home some mustard yellow armchairs, ate some food, collected alot of flowers - it's only been two days that i have comfortably been on the beach in shorts. Ryan and I are playing through my favorite LOTR game, got matching best friend necklaces and matching journals and some other things. I feel a great pull towards Romeo + Juliet this summer, religiously rewatching the films and making stencils of quotes to lord over walls in gold rolled paint in graffiti grandure. I feel this need for sticky sunbaked skin and hot un-airconditioned candlelit rooms, floral prints both tacky and verbose, all of the drugs, knitted intricate lace and flouncy petticoat skirts with white garters and overalls and comfortable cotton pajamas with stupid slogans. Nin and soul asylum. Fresh Aloe on my lips and eyelids. Cathair in my food. Needlework. Laying on hot car tops and taking photos playing with unloaded but very real guns. And softball. I'm going to play softball this year. It's weird to be completely content, I mean that happiness is sometimes unmotivational, because all I find myself doing is living and being happy and then a week has passed and i cant, in any solid terms, recall what i did. I guess happiness is like that, though, and the most poignant times of my life have always been the hardest and most wretched and the happiest, as they happen, on the wind. The body of my work will be the times i cried looking at the stars or to Sagan describe them, and my photographic career having held things, a thousand photos of objects in my hands: burritos, sand, blood. Ryan and I listened to the cosmos with a cheap plastic fan blowing our hair back into our faces and the sheets kicked down to our bare feet and I kissed his shoulder while he half paid attention to me and i had that line from romeo and juliet in my head, the long string of them, Read over the volume of young Paris' face and find delight writ there with beauty's pen. This precious book of love, this unbound lover to beautify him, only lacks a cover. We have a car for the summer, at last, and im determined that we will paint it purple and put throw pillows and coverlets all along the backseat, I think ryan said it was going to look like a manhattan cab but I am trying to create a backseat oasis so i have somewhere to lay comfortably with the windows down at night and crickets chirping. Ryan is working on this new album, it's so goddamn 90s, I really just want him to finish it so I can listen to it. Oh, and wren baby season is coming upon us, lets hope another flies inside before we move. The fact that i listen to very little music that wasnt recorded from 1989-1999 feels dated, i think people get sick of me listening to nothing but siamese dream and bleach, and i have easily another three decades listening to them. Not sick of it yet. My latest passion is magazines, and I am surprised by how much they cost (now). I buy music magazines, national geographic, home decore magazines - I think they are just really great, it's funny how holding something physical these days almost feels surreal and pampered - it's a small luxery of jessica time to step away from cracked and read an editorial on cheesecake that was printed on real paper with real ink and was already irrelevant by the time it hit news stands. The most angry I have been in several weeks was reaching into my bag of gummi savers three minutes ago and finding nothing left but two disgusting purple gummis, ryan is really pushing ths shit with me.