I’m having an anti-breasts week.
It started when I was watching a movie and two dudes exchanged some manly gesture of clapping one another on the chest. I was made unaccountably sad. No one’s ever going to slap me on the pecs as a reassuring gesture, because I have all this sexuality sitting in the way. And they’re only b-cups!
It’s not even that the gesture is that great, just that there’s this entire subset of human interaction that will forever be lost to me just because of biology.

[The boy reminded me that “the shoulder-clasp” is totally more manly, but whatever.]

So I was thinking of maybe binding for a week, you know, just until I feel like cleavage is worth having again. Turns out I don’t have any tensor bandages, only hand-wraps for boxing. And they’re bright red.

8tracks radio | the end of a restart. | it's kinda got happy stuff on it and and i guess it's like upbeat or whatever

Sometimes the best thing on stressful days is to listen to my old mixes and be comforted by familiar songs that I once arranged in a way I wouldn’t think to now.

I’m really enjoying the songs on this one.

Ontario Then & Now

Toronto / Ontario photographers, get on this.