welcomeTTmachine

Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Yukio Mishima, Spring Snow

My friend and photographer Alex Kahn wanted to veer off the usual climbing photoshoot, so we aimed for something a little more fashion-forward… Heheh. I know this isn’t my usual material but it sure was fun to model for! ^_^