yesterday i went to taska's holiday party. i love the clevelands. i saw jon hassell who i haven't seen in a very long time. we bonded our medical situations. i also talked to ira, taylor's dad (i think), for a long time. later that night, i found a copy of LA Yoga with him on the cover. it was a nice comparison to make. he was wearing a similar red sweater.

i experience my anxiety as different nuanced colors i do not know how to articulate, but as jon and i spoke, we agreed that it just isn't meant to be described. why must there be a description? how strange that we give the whole world a description. intellectualizing it all until it loses it's saturation, true color.

i'm coming around to photography for the sake of photography (rather than a status for other people to validate). i dont want to use it as a vehicle to validate myself, but it's so hard to not leverage the one thing you have confidence/experience in when you are an era of self criticism. it's a relationship im not ready to start again unless i feel better. i feel good about this loyalty that i have to my convictions, my practice of photography. i don't want photography to fuel this negative thing.

trying times.

a different kind of hunger.

new motto: "i don't give a shit" and "i'm still the same person"