John Edwards Curtis
I used to think I was the strangest person in the world, but then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels flawed and bizarre in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this, know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you. – Frida Kahlo
My Mamma, Claire, and her good buds Les, Carol and Dana performing The Highwaymen, one of the greatest songs of all time, at First Friday at The Enchanted Alpaca in Hood River, Oregon.
I seem to notice babies more often when I’m with Cascade, who has a serious soft spot for teeny tinies. When we travelled to Asia together this summer, I tried my hardest to document some of the lil ones who stopped her in her tracks n stole her big ol beatin heart.
It wasn’t like the cemetery in Havana: construction workers repairing cracked marble, clearing dead brush, oiling rusted gates etc. Hurricane Sandy had damaged the majority of graves in Santiago de Cuba and no one was rebuilding or repairing.
I spotted the diggers long before I could smell their boozey sweat. It was ten AM in the Santiago de Cuba cemetery and the sun blasted like it was twelve noon. As they walked up, a grizzled rope and two cigarettes between the trio, I wondered where they were coming from, where they were headed.
It kinda felt like the diggers had been around since the first grave of the entire cemetery was dug. Something so constant about them. Like they were always there and always had been and always would be. Time blending, heat, rain, hurricane, morning, afternoon, evening, digging all the while.
the ALL SORTS