it was worth a shot


sunrise in port townsend

this is my second trip into the Puget Sound in as many months. the waves push through the crowds, unconcerned with their own potential. the ferry comes and goes.

i have been finding myself more and more drawn to places where ‘the world at large’ doesn’t exist—or, perhaps, is less prominent in. at this point, there are two paths for America: one where Bernie wins next year and a movement to take on the various crises of our time grows from it, or one where literally anyone else wins and the American experiment as a hellhole of late capitalist greed and terror continues to spiral toward a merciless end.

so i listen to the waves.

posted at 08:00 on 28 November 2019 to Personal

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a world ago & a lifetime away


Ibiza is a strange place because I had absolutely no clue it was some international club destination for Rich Kids, so when I was looking over the wine menu at a spot I stopped for lunch to find glasses for $20, I was a bit taken aback. It made more sense after I figured it out, however, when I left the Museum of Contemporary Art to find three girls hobbling down the rocky street in shoes with heels longer than their skirts.

I’m never really interested in places for their Designated Tourism Purpose, and they’re often more enjoyable for it. All the best discoveries are off the beaten path.

(that is what I usually say, however on this particular day in Ibiza it was fucking hot, and I forgot my hat, so I basically spent the time walking from one shaded area to another.)


Tourist Destinations like this have a certain class scale. Luxury storefronts, fine dining. Ibiza felt sort of like Disney Luxury, where these massive yachts were just parked row by row, advertising Wealth Is Here like a glowing neon sign.

Taking photos of a central square where Extinction Rebellion was later to set up a sizeable protest, a houseless person or two occupy nearly every bench in sight. That’s the other problem with tourist destinations these days: they are epicenters of inequality, opulence, waste, and a world charging, full steam ahead, into whatever comes from it.


I was leaving for my ferry just before dusk. the Hairstyles and Outfits began appearing all around me, products of an afternoon spent in front of a mirror. I suppose it’s on par with one spent in front of a screen. Everything is a mirror in its own way, like that.

how the sun would glisten off the sea with a light just as blinding.

Walking through the square toward my water taxi, a woman in a red dress with bright red paint dripping from her hands dances through the gathering protesters. She pirouettes around to me as I get up from taking a picture, puts her hands on my cheeks, looks at me and smiles, and dances away. For a moment I wonder if the red paint will ever come out of my beard, then I remember the planet is on fire so it doesn’t matter much anyway.


posted at 11:30 on 13 November 2019 to Personal

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I spent some time near Point Hannon not too long ago. There was a loft-cabin, a wood stove, no electricity. On the Point there was a driftwood sculpture of a dragon made by the locals. It was the middle of fall and so the trees were still strong in their greens while some paths were covered in yellow leaves, saturated so bright as if they were daring the seasons to continue to change.

One of the pathways that left the cabin immediately turned downward into a slight valley, to which a combination of roots and mud then created a hill upward. At the top of this hill was another, more significant downward slope which continued on to the beach. Perched on this small pathway hilltop was a white, plastic patio chair, which seemed like it had gone all season without being sat in.

(I admit to sitting on it at least once to rest and have a sip of wine.)


The chair atop the hill

I’d walk by this chair more than a couple times each day, as this hill was a part of our main path to and from the beach. It sat with the presence of a throne. The ferns and firs almost seem to have grown in anticipation of its eventuality. I was instantly drawn to it, and with each walk past grew more curious. Why here?

The view from the chair was mundane compared to how it appeared. It didn’t face any direct sunlight during the day and the vantage was mostly looking down on Joe’s lawn. Sitting in it, one was exposed to the elements and there was no where to build a fire. Yet it is the perfect object for this spot: a completely unnatural, cheap and bland American symbol of relaxation here in the thick of one of the most naturally relaxing places in America I’ve ever been. This grotesque piece of plastic in the middle of some of the most remarkable nature and it still just vibed. The fuck is this chair doing here?

I never asked about it, partially because I just enjoy the mystery. There’s something disarming about finding objects juxtaposed with nature like this; their being out-of-place makes them fit right in. That they all serve some strange purpose, are all perfect in distinct moments. Maybe that’s it—maybe the perfection of the chair isn’t in its view, but of the view of it.

Or it could be that it’s a good place to sit if you’re drunk and tired of hiking up a shit-ton of stairs back from the beach and need a rest before getting back to the fire.

posted at 22:00 on 12 November 2019 to Personal

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