Photo by Anna Lisa Liver
A paradise of calm and inattentive water, overlain in mountains of far away trees and mindless flying birds. That so much plain nothingness is so sought-after in far reaches of the world attests to some innate nature to squeltch civilization. A resort, where I’m staying, is a petri dish of cultural habits, against nature.
It seems to say: this shape, this color, and these mannerisms are lord over this land, and what can you do about it? I yearn for cheesiness, the fortitude of innocence, the shaggy brow; wrinkles. Text by S. Lorenzo
Costa Rica in Fall 2018. Photo by David Montgomery
With my entire grammatical future unwritten, I set down these ambitions: We should progress like this: giving the “up yours” to loudly beeping trucks. Text by S. Lorenzo
Early morning in Brooklyn. Photo by John White