@3 weeks ago
Sunrise report from our scaffolding-free deck: a smidgen of molten matter that poured slatternly down the mountains. With some faith from something somewhere, it arose into beautiful flight. (Yes, I am poeticizing. Blame it on a morning of Isaac Rosenberg.)
, then we try to translate Finnegans Wake on our iPhone, then we make a video out of it, then we take a still and type some text overtop (font from the superbly wack collection at misprintedtype)
@9 months ago
@3 years ago with 7 notes
Granville south of Georgia. Tons of ink being spilled. “I feel better now,” a young woman says after writing something.