One year ago yesterday I moved back to LA from New York. I left everything I had come to know and love and returned to where I was born and raised. I felt like an outsider then, and 365 days plus one later, I still do. I feel like a transplant to my own city. To the city of my birth, to the city that raised me, to the city which shaped me to into the person I am presently. It’s strange, how you can come to be uncomfortable in a place that is supposed to be home. Maybe you forget it, maybe it forgets you. Either way, Los Angeles and I are still getting used to each other, and I trying my damnedest to make it work, but New York, I think I will always miss you. Photo: Neil Clayton Campbell

One year ago yesterday I moved back to LA from New York. I left everything I had come to know and love and returned to where I was born and raised. I felt like an outsider then, and 365 days plus one later, I still do. I feel like a transplant to my own city. To the city of my birth, to the city that raised me, to the city which shaped me to into the person I am presently. It’s strange, how you can come to be uncomfortable in a place that is supposed to be home. Maybe you forget it, maybe it forgets you. Either way, Los Angeles and I are still getting used to each other, and I trying my damnedest to make it work, but New York, I think I will always miss you.

Photo: Neil Clayton Campbell

A First

Somebody just told me they want to be like me when they grow up. Hah. But really, now that I’ve heard it, I think it’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received. I feel warm and fuzzy.

Found this on the ground walking home from the metro the other night. Something about it just makes me like it. I feel as if it’s an artifact from someone who got a Polaroid camera right when they came out and used it as we novices use digital cameras today, just to capture a memory here and there, rather than as an artistic pursuit, which seems to have become the realm of Polaroids. Really though, probably some hipster took it cause he thought it’d look cool, wrote 1969 on the corner so it seemed authentic, and then lost it from his man purse when he was drunk and spitting Kerouac from his pulpit on the corner sidewalk.

Found this on the ground walking home from the metro the other night. Something about it just makes me like it. I feel as if it’s an artifact from someone who got a Polaroid camera right when they came out and used it as we novices use digital cameras today, just to capture a memory here and there, rather than as an artistic pursuit, which seems to have become the realm of Polaroids.

Really though, probably some hipster took it cause he thought it’d look cool, wrote 1969 on the corner so it seemed authentic, and then lost it from his man purse when he was drunk and spitting Kerouac from his pulpit on the corner sidewalk.