My remarkable little brother, I call him Pickle,
set out today on a long-mulled-over whim,
to cast himself upon the choppy waters of New York City.
(New York City, imagine that?)
He goes up there, like many a playwright/thespian/poet/Kenyon graduate
before him, to make his way in a city glutted with
talent, slim-prospects and really expensive cocktails,
with no idea what he'll do with himself, except start looking.
I have complete faith that something astounding will come of it,
but if any of you in NYC need, or know of someone who needs,
an incredibly capable fellow to do something
from the menial to the impossible, he's your man.
Seriously, let me know. You shan't be disappointed.



Guido: I thought my ideas were so clear.
I wanted to make an honest film. No lies whatsoever.
I thought I had something so simple to say.
Something useful to everybody.
A film that could help bury forever
all those dead things we carry within ourselves.
Instead, I'm the one without the courage to
bury anything at all. When did I go wrong?
I really have nothing to say, but I want to say it all the same.

[Toasting myself and you, Counterpart]:

To 7 years of marriage, and all the hours we've spent,
and will spend, pronouncing Guido-isms in earnest.



Thinking about:
primary sources, originals, prime causes,
firsts and foremosts, the beginnings of...

So all of this is just mine (ours).

Jason Eskenazi
Religious procession, Azarmas, Russia, 1991


cave hotel

Architects Marco Giunta and Viviana Haddad
converted twelve little houses into the six suites,
which surround a courtyard in Modica, Sicily.

Casa Talia, here


fans (plants)

Egypt, Northern Upper Egypt, Abadiya, Cemetery
ca. 3500–3300 B.C



fired (up)

Regretting not making it to NYC this summer even more.

Paul Clay exhibit/perfect medley here.
Someone please go for me and then tell me about it.