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@fake-encore
saltwater crocodile
adelaide river, NT, australia

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Mantras
Wind rattling the windows. Black skies at noon. I embrace the weather because it suits my mood. I face the day like running underwater. I refuse the psychic ills of being the only daughter. Everything is drag. Everyone is nefarious. Stop missing them. Kill all my softness. Stop looking at the date and making associations. I am not a bottomless well. I am not a power station. Pick up speed and release the clutch. Replace bleeding cycles with bloodlust. Let me run on instinct. Let me be the ruthless one. Let me be the inflictor, not the one inflicted on. Let me be the one who is never sorry. Let me be the gatekeeper of my own history. Let me be a beast, unbothered by the rain. Let me be relieved of the burden of my pain.
𖤓⋆˚꩜。rituals 。𖦹°‧⋆˚࿔𖤓
Southern Man
I am a distant star
I am a mirrored entity
It is your own reflection
that you see in me
All your ugly thoughts
I hear them like a call
As a tender presence
I parse through them all
Discern what parts are ego,
Illness, inner child, or soul
Sifting all your broken parts
I patch them up with gold
Your energy moves North through me
I siphon to your South
Exchange your pain for healing
Like a breath into your mouth
I am a distant star
Lighting up your face
I am just the conduit
Not your landing place
Spinning gently through infinity
I guide your hand
I am a mirrored entity
And you're a Southern man.

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The mood of that chapter of my life was reminiscent of the time I lived in a rural mountain village in the Andes for a month to do a job and I let a giant spider sleep under my bed for a few weeks.
On the third week, I found out it was deadly and venomous when the lady who owned the homestead was startled when I showed it to her. She said something to me in Spanish to the effect of: "That's a mother spider. You're lucky she didn't bite you. You must have a guardian angel." She didn't understand that I actually considered the menacing spider to be my companion at the time. Lying in bed under the blanket of the night, I would practice my Spanish by whispering erroneous phrases in the dark like: "Do you know where the library is, spider?" I used to believe that deadly predators could be tamed if you just spoke softly to them, and that a warm and gentle tone could serve as a soothing siren song to even the most tyrannical of dispositions. I was wrong about this, of course.
Did they say they were dropping me off in the foothills of the Mojanda Volcano? I didn't even really know where I was on that trip. And even though I was travelling alone, I hadn't bothered to ask. Not bothering to ask for key information in this manner, or rather, failing to pay attention when it was provided to me, would become an enduring theme in my life that would eventually lead to a lot of problems for me down the track.
romance with friends >
Hello, I know absolutely nothing about photography, but the picture of the mountains that you took in Colorado Springs has really inspired me to take up photography can you please tell me how to get that exact color and effect?
Hey, that's so sweet, I'm glad you liked it and felt inspired. If you are interested in taking photos, just go for it, use any camera, and start taking photos all the time.
Beginning photography is about juxtaposition and balancing a photo (look up 'the rule of thirds' and you'll be good to go after that).
There's a few factors at play with the mountain photo:
1. The natural lighting on the mountain the day I was up there. It was mid morning on a winter day in Colorado, and the sun was slightly off centre over the mountains which created the shadows and contrasts. I was at a 3000ft elevation too, so it helped for the view.
2. Editing - I used a free photo editing software for this one, and cranked up the colour contrast to the highest setting, before converting it to B+W, and then experimented with the adjustment settings for a long while. I made about five different versions and saved them all, and then chose the best one.
With editing, there's no right way, you just get a feeling when something looks right and you just know. This instinct gets better, the more you practice and experiment, trial and error etc.
sunrise

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twilight
Love like water
When you're a liquid soul, you can reinvent yourself as many time as you want because you're made of water. Running with the river and the rain, melting upwards, back into the sky to be born again over someone else's tin roof. Your entire personality comes from soaking through things. Not soaking them in, soaking through them. Stealing water from your heroes, friends and lovers. The world is your container, and you empty yourself into it continuously. Dumping all your extra water into other people's pockets as you go. But eventually a liquid sense of self gets away from a person. The rain picks up speed, the river runs into a waterfall, the wind obscures direction. Failsafes built to drip feed yourself into the world will fail to keep you safe. And everything you have absorbed in your life will swell up from your core like Pandora's Box out of an ocean. A liquid life comes down on you with the gravity of a tidal wave.
Having a resurgence of nostalgia for this song and this band this summer <3
I actually don't think I like how digital the photos off my old Nikon DSLR look. Colour grading them is very difficult and after several editing attempts, they still have this off-putting digital quality to them that I really don't like. Such a shame because I have so many archived photos from so many interesting locations. But I would probably be better to take new photos of my backyard with a better camera, or going back to using film, because even the contact sheets look like shit.
Colorado Springs, CO

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Colorado Springs, CO
I once heard someone describe Melbourne in one word: shadows. For me, this couldn't be more true. The terror of a colonial past remains in this part of the country. Wherever you go in Melbourne, shadows seem to trail you, like spirits just out of the corner of your eye, narrowly missing your pathway around every corner. Maybe these are the ghosts of the Yarra—river spirits caught in an endless current, careening over the land, woven into the waves of bitter battles, against darkness and cold, whispering songs and stories of the land, lost to tragedy and time. I imagine them that way. The melancholy moods of Melbourne hang heavy over the remote city like a haunted cloud at the edge of the Earth. As if at any moment, the Great Southern Ocean could wash away land and life and I will join these watery wraiths.