S̀͢͝Í͝M̷̴̨̨̢Ư̧͢͝V̵̷͟Á͜҉͘͟C̛

troye sivan for russh magazine

Next to us, passing car wheels whispered across the tarmac, their interiors lit by GPS units and personal music devices. I saw LED headlights collide with nighttime insects. Small insignificant deaths like this seem necessary in larger cities and I was noticing them more in this time. I have recently seen small pigeons and native mammals lying dead in gutters. I have seen butterflies crushed by the churning wheels of interstate priority trucks.

those two

sydney city streets

leon bridges for russh magazine

cgi

The sheets were heavy that day. Heaping themselves in emotional folds across the bed, my body, hiding the dead sitting tension of the mattress springs beneath. The window seemed far away and high on the wall, the sky an idle supine blue. Looking up with the sheets in my mouth I felt static, brittle. An office chair hanging inverted in water. I had a sudden indulgent urge to die outdoors, away from linen and sheets and depression. I continued looking at my phone.

tom cocquerel for russh magazine

It happens around 4 o’clock. When the sun tips down on to the pool and the people around it. A certain hour of heavy Los Angeles light when it functions as more than just reflection, when it becomes its own thick, tangible thing. An object in itself. Pool chairs, water, brickwork and skin turn colours they have not been before and the sky hangs supine and lazy, rolling in words like pigment or chalk.

alone at the pool party

nicola samori - l'âge mûr

joseph mcelroy - the unknown kid

laurie anderson - o superman

ridge

The police of this city were stouter, more imposing. The guns on their belts wore a significance unmatched by those in other municipalities. Here the weapons had a conspicuous level of necessity; something about the way they sat on the hips, fat and accessable, conveyed a heavy sense of their ability to be drawn and used for slaughter.

the hoover, damn