http://www.tesshurrell.com

into the void; i love these

there is one guy who has been looking for "the black girl at the post-office" for a while now, an older man searching for his "mary speech therapist from brooklyn, lost love," claims that could be made about half the population like "jennifer, the chinese girl who got drunk and passed out..." and bullshitters that you know are going to contain bullshit with headers like "I Truly Do Miss You..." but mostly it's just good, honest poetry. these are highly anonymous and highly personal cries into the voids of love and the internet; vacuums that often do not produce answers.

famous black men my mother wouldn't recognize

neoterism

circa 2007, 2007, 2008, 2010, 2011

ego with smooth part and obvious intentions, vain and naive ego, ego messy and with owl, with tear, with mirror.
ego tries, ego strains, ego is proud, ego is easily shattered. nuance and assertion, arrogance and insecurity - two sides of the same beautiful sword. this weekend ego was with cancer, the crab, that is. a crab with a good heart, a terrible smoking habit, a fear of the goodnight, a lover of the dawn, called forth and to move by a certain drum beat; one that i hear, too. we say we see patterns though i despise repetition. we say i have tendencies and we call them my default. we say i like certain things and i always say innocently that i like what i like. we say to move forward without looking back, though every month my body does the same thing, and the moon even more so, and the sun too, though he strains and often over compensates, and we lay down to get up again, we spin on spinning, like the rims on those massive, mean trucks that roar down this desolate stretch of bushwick avenue that i call mine. i plug my ears with two pointer fingers, just like that, with bozo curly hair exploding out from under a winter hat i refuse to wear correctly. but this winter it's different; i'm secretly pleased, selfishly so, yes at global warming...! yes at this heat. yes, because it's been a while since i walked home against traffic with the sun in my eyes and in some convoluted kind of pain that masochists secretly seek, because if it's bad, then that means it can be really, really good. and ego hopes you hear this; even if ego knows it was nothing. we dipped our feet in some sort of ocean, is all, and the crab on some one-of-a kind type fine. i leave it there, because wild hearts can't be broken, and because i know i don't look like some fucking idiot.

all of the 28th's, of every month (happy birthday twin)

happy birthday tater, sister twin soul, through the thin and very fucking thick. tater and i have a time machine; every time i sit in her car we trigger it - i do my thing, and she does hers, we can travel anywhere. here we are at ocean beach, the western most part of san francisco, the most blustery, the greyest, the coldest. there was a black man stretching towards the breakers, and a black umbrella smashed and resting on top of the sand. there are always ecstatic dogs half wet and half dry slobbering on their green-yellow tennis balls running back and forth like happy idiots, and san franciscans, couples, or runners, old folk like in coney island, milling about, keeping to themselves...the rest of the day was filled with happy details that would mean even less to you than the above, and mean more to me if i could keep in the treasure chest inside.

malin's boyfriend slow winin', scrill bus

with the girls

even at this age, and from behind the lens, two things that make me practically invisible to them, you can feel the intricacies of the interpersonal landscape that belongs to these girls. at this age, it's like, like, like, like, kind of invisible, hard to see, though the landscape is overwhelming, kind of like, heated, like, overheated, yes, an overheated greenhouse in the middle of an east coast summer, or something, like...a kind of invisibility weaves these girls together, though traces of everything, of the move, of thoughts or private opinions, judgement or envy, adoration, etc., can be seen by simply letting your gaze lag, then just fall behind in conversation, just look at the faces during the pauses, or follow the darting of eyes from target to audience and back to target again, or watch how definite the change in expression is, when you have turned, and gone.

game over

toronto, 1986

at the mitzvah

and then my flash broke. if you heard screaming in the hallway that was me.

varioso

line, no line + flowers

famous face with the trees

famous face at the window

invierno

varioso

'the handsome man' by heather christle

THE HANDSOME MAN

Walking through the forest I found you
strapped to a tree and half-fainting.
My god you were beautiful,
your sword sticking out like a sword.
Attempting to revive you, I strutted
around the tree seven times, in my
matchless squirrel coat. You seemed
distracted, though, by the lepers’
parade as they lumbered by, singing
Oh woe is me, my feet are cold,
I cannot find my barrel
I took off my coat and disguised
myself as a rooster with a cruel eye
and taxable plumage. There you are, Manfred!
you said, as your bonds turned to vapor.
You tucked me under your arm
and set out to slay something, while I struggled
to take off your pants with my beak.

© sarah girner + parents (regarding the queen)

the magnificent ©sarah girner, of her brilliant parents, in venecia. pulling the rug out from under struth as we speak.

happy mission couple and other walls

succulents, garage, twin peaks (what a city)

out of focus iris sf, out of touch poster ny

the list too long

m'tater swingin' on valencia street, and talking to my bff glen on ocean beach in front of light wand. i made some terrible decisions that day but they were minor. the rest was a day for the history books.