and this existance we share here amongst the trees and the ocean and the moss and the animals is so divine, so graceful, yet so restless. we are forever itching to run naked through the fields, to dance to the rhythm of nature's heartbeat and to sprout antlers among our untidy, knotted hair.
they have their televisions and their politics.
we have our branches and leaves.
this is _______________.
“That’s not my blood. I was making out with my main squeeze on a stoop in the East Village and some macho jock dickhead walked by and called us fags. I don’t think he expected me to get up in his face. We scrapped a bit and then I head-butted him and could feel his nose break on my forehead. We ran for blocks, laughing at the top of our lungs, and then jumped into bed, where my boyfriend took this picture of me.”