Placa Major

Placa Major

Descend

Descend

Hang Out

Hang Out

Walk Alone

Walk Alone

Fishing

Fishing

Sitting

Sitting

, various verticals, Palma de Mallorca 2019

as photography becomes more focused on individualism (along with everything else)—selfies run rampant, cropped and composed scenarios that look more like commercial advertisements than memories—i’ve drifted more into desiring to capture people existing within a certain context. perhaps it is at the sacrifice of the intimacy of a stranger’s face, but it seems that is overly available these days. we must not forget we are part of an intermediary, a system which governs all our lives, and my focus lately has been capturing that system and how we are interacting with it and with one another, constrained by these boundaries of flesh and bone and time.

Waving

Waving

Bastille

Bastille

Along The River

Bartering In The Sunlight

Hanging Out

Hanging Out

Umbrella Man

The Sights of Pigalle

Afternoon Ride

Afternoon Ride (Selfie)

Mannequins

Mannequins

Toilettes

Toilettes

Going Underground

Going Underground

Police

Police

The Seine

The Seine

Celebration

Celebration

suffice to say Paris has overtaken Osaka as my favorite city in the world

I have more/better photos from the trip but they’ll be saved for my upcoming book Revisionist History, out in December.

Copenhagen

Copenhagen

The first thing I notice is how everyone is smiling. Like, everyone. This place would be a cartoon if it was in America. There’s not a lick of insincerity. And this is leaving the fucking airport, where I thought it was a rule that basically everyone is miserable, always, everywhere.

This part of the world is often used, in one form or another, as a political talking point in America about places that “get X,Y or Z” done right. The clean streets, effective and modern transportation infrastructure, seemingly robust economy, not needing to worry about health care or police shootings (or, really, shootings much at all).1

Copenhagen felt like Amsterdam without all the vice tourism, which is nice because it uncrowded the streets a bit. Even at Christiania, with its turned-eye hash market, everything was relaxed. Energetic and wonderful, but no drunks on parade the way one might find around various downtown areas back in Holland.

I think the only depressing thing about travel is with each new city and culture I experience, it piles on more evidence as to exactly how much America has got wrong. How much we’ve veered off-course as a country, as an idea. How bad things are and how much it would take to get remotely back on track, toward an idea of a place where people would actually smile at one another leaving the airport.

  • Of course these are mostly leftist talking points; the right would probably like the fact most of the people are white, but nationalism is for suckers.
The Garden
The Garden

, for as much as London and I didn’t totally agree with one another there are still some pretty cool things here

(now, onward to Denmark)

Castletownbere

Last Light in Ireland

Small towns seem to be alike all over the world. Word travels fast, people without names know who you are despite the fact you do not. The days fold in on themselves, at first seeming endless until suddenly they have vanished.

Ireland is a special place. Not that the people are any better than the rest of the world, but the country they’ve built certainly is. Plastic bottles along the shoreline and oil draped across wakes of fishing boats were reminders that nothing is ever perfect, but it’s a far cry from the horrendous bouts of violence that have gripped America for decades now.

It’s an awkward transition this time, as I thought initially I wouldn’t need to leave the border. I’d shifted into a place of semi-permanence, now back into transience. Being in London, almost the total opposite of a quaint Irish town in so many ways, is the right kind of shock. (Especially considering I have the same view of England as the Irish tend to. Long live the Republic.)

As the world carves itself to pieces, Ireland seems to be the one place staying above it all (even with Britain’s best efforts to take the entire region down in flames). Even the heatwave didn’t really hit there, only remarkable singalongs in comfortable pubs and friendly smiles that didn’t lack sincerity in the least. So long as I am not there, I will miss it.

Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou Pierrot Le Fou

Written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard, 1965.

My all-time favorite film.

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Horse
Cows

—outside of sheep, the animals here are all pretty nice. although I don’t think Ireland has cats. I think I’ve seen one cat in the entire two months I’ve been here. Which is fine, I don’t really see many friendly horses when I’m wandering around in the States—

(images continued from Bantry Bay adventures)

Bantry Bay Bantry Bay Bantry Bay Bantry Bay
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