Landon A. @lovenvoy

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we used to run through the house to find you
turning the corners of every room
opening the closet doors
looking under beds
all out of breath
but there you’d be always
in the quiet places we’d go to last
out by the garden repotting an overgrown aloe vera
mending one of your dresses on the bottom step
and you’d look at us with those eyes 
as you took off your apron 
and placed your hand on our faces one by one
your fingers 
stained with earth 
cooled our cheeks 
kissed where we hurt
—
I went to the ocean today and sat
at a point on the shore where you can see
the tip of the lighthouse that we’d walk to on Sundays
from the top
so high above the ground you
can’t tell if you’re looking at the sky or a pale
sea as if 
from such a distance the horizon concedes
its stance on binaries 
and undoes its ancient boundaries
heaven
am I far enough from you?
—
I pretend you still ask about me
Does he eat well?
What’s he reading? 
though you’d know
we meet in dreams now
you leave the light on
it’s almost morning
you’re waiting on the porch
humming something secular
beautiful
blue 
I walk up from the street 
to your chair and lay
my head upon your breasts 
worlds full and vast
while you weep 
and make me
yours
  • Comments 2

we used to run through the house to find you turning the corners of every room opening the closet doors looking under beds all out of breath but there you’d be always in the quiet places we’d go to last out by the garden repotting an overgrown aloe vera mending one of your dresses on the bottom step and you’d look at us with those eyes as you took off your apron and placed your hand on our faces one by one your fingers stained with earth cooled our cheeks kissed where we hurt — I went to the ocean today and sat at a point on the shore where you can see the tip of the lighthouse that we’d walk to on Sundays from the top so high above the ground you can’t tell if you’re looking at the sky or a pale sea as if from such a distance the horizon concedes its stance on binaries and undoes its ancient boundaries heaven am I far enough from you? — I pretend you still ask about me Does he eat well? What’s he reading? though you’d know we meet in dreams now you leave the light on it’s almost morning you’re waiting on the porch humming something secular beautiful blue I walk up from the street to your chair and lay my head upon your breasts worlds full and vast while you weep and make me yours

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10 days
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10 days

I believe in the sand beneath my toes
  • Comments 4

I believe in the sand beneath my toes

You called me
from the edge of the cliff 
where the rock formations look
like little mountains with cliffs of their own
and white arrows pointing up
painted by those who came before 
would lead me to you

We took the same route last Christmas
and at the bottom 
you took a picture of me leaning against the jagged backdrop
shirtless, looking for my shoes
and set it as your phone's wallpaper 
for a month 
You told me that the beach is your safe place because everything written in the sand 
washes away before you can turn around to read it
That nothing is permanent but the 
perennial rhythm of waves crashing 
about the one who stands alone on the shore
tasting it in the air 
watching its endless succession 
letting it swallow all sound
  • Comments 4

You called me from the edge of the cliff where the rock formations look like little mountains with cliffs of their own and white arrows pointing up painted by those who came before would lead me to you We took the same route last Christmas and at the bottom you took a picture of me leaning against the jagged backdrop shirtless, looking for my shoes and set it as your phone's wallpaper for a month You told me that the beach is your safe place because everything written in the sand washes away before you can turn around to read it That nothing is permanent but the perennial rhythm of waves crashing about the one who stands alone on the shore tasting it in the air watching its endless succession letting it swallow all sound

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covfefe mornings
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covfefe mornings

we could put a hole in the ground, throw seeds and dance for rain
  • Comments 2

we could put a hole in the ground, throw seeds and dance for rain

Shine like a new pin Sundays
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Shine like a new pin Sundays

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no new fronds
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no new fronds

This photo, capturing a characteristic wrinkled Oxford and contrived nonchalance, was taken one month ago in Hong Kong. I took a flight back home the next morning, and read the following quote on the plane. I've been pondering it since.
--
"But he was also to be my first lesson in the strange phenomenon that besets all of us who travel to strange places and found our own assumptions and lessons proven not just wrong, but opposite. It is very easy to be intellectually brave in such locations, where the academy, one’s peers, and the entirety of Western history and religion feel not only irrelevant but misguided. But unlearning things is much more difficult than learning them, and even the most courageous of minds will find itself tempted to retreat back into the known at the first opportunity."
-Hanya Yanagihara, The People in the Trees
  • Comments 6

This photo, capturing a characteristic wrinkled Oxford and contrived nonchalance, was taken one month ago in Hong Kong. I took a flight back home the next morning, and read the following quote on the plane. I've been pondering it since. -- "But he was also to be my first lesson in the strange phenomenon that besets all of us who travel to strange places and found our own assumptions and lessons proven not just wrong, but opposite. It is very easy to be intellectually brave in such locations, where the academy, one’s peers, and the entirety of Western history and religion feel not only irrelevant but misguided. But unlearning things is much more difficult than learning them, and even the most courageous of minds will find itself tempted to retreat back into the known at the first opportunity." -Hanya Yanagihara, The People in the Trees

We rented a car in Okinawa, my first time driving internationally (rather, on the opposite side of the road I'm accustomed to)—which I did without harming myself or others! We navigated through sudden tollways, turned up the wrong side of roundabouts to the mild panic of hotel concierge, ascended cliffs to greet Manzamo, the ancient, calcified proboscidean. We ate everything purple and brown and the emerald of sea grapes, and drank in everything touched by the bite of bitter melon. At night we'd swim. 
After three days, we arrived in Hong Kong by air, took the MTR, trekked through forked streets and winding, dark stairways. I learned that each block in Kowloon City emits its own unique scent—jasmine, the next street sesame, then herbal, anise, and all uniformly fecal, like wilting flowers—as if demarcating spaces for a sightless, but nasally-dexterous society. Later, we got to the ferry after threading in and out of pockets of bystanders momentarily caught by the soundscapes cast of white buskers financing their Asian expeditions. From the water, the skyline gleamed in the sheen of its permanent semi-darkness. Smaller boats drifted past us. 
The last sixteen days seems to have been an exercise in measuring our capacity for the best foods of the region, testing our receptiveness to the wide, technicolor spectrum of beauty, of people, landscape, and sound. Grateful grateful grateful for everyone I've met along the way, and for Gamakich most of all. Thank. You.
  • Comments 3

We rented a car in Okinawa, my first time driving internationally (rather, on the opposite side of the road I'm accustomed to)—which I did without harming myself or others! We navigated through sudden tollways, turned up the wrong side of roundabouts to the mild panic of hotel concierge, ascended cliffs to greet Manzamo, the ancient, calcified proboscidean. We ate everything purple and brown and the emerald of sea grapes, and drank in everything touched by the bite of bitter melon. At night we'd swim. After three days, we arrived in Hong Kong by air, took the MTR, trekked through forked streets and winding, dark stairways. I learned that each block in Kowloon City emits its own unique scent—jasmine, the next street sesame, then herbal, anise, and all uniformly fecal, like wilting flowers—as if demarcating spaces for a sightless, but nasally-dexterous society. Later, we got to the ferry after threading in and out of pockets of bystanders momentarily caught by the soundscapes cast of white buskers financing their Asian expeditions. From the water, the skyline gleamed in the sheen of its permanent semi-darkness. Smaller boats drifted past us. The last sixteen days seems to have been an exercise in measuring our capacity for the best foods of the region, testing our receptiveness to the wide, technicolor spectrum of beauty, of people, landscape, and sound. Grateful grateful grateful for everyone I've met along the way, and for Gamakich most of all. Thank. You.

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Today we're heading to Okinawa from Nagasaki. I'm a quarter Okinawan, and the rest of my (known) lineage can be traced to Kumamoto, other places in Kyushu, and Yamaguchi.  This flight to Okinawa will be the last leg of my nomadic Motherland tour: my first time out of Tokyo, to Kyushu, and to the land of sweet potatoes and centenarians. 
These pictures were taken at some of my favorite spots in Miyajima, Fukuoka & Nagasaki.
  • Comments 5

Today we're heading to Okinawa from Nagasaki. I'm a quarter Okinawan, and the rest of my (known) lineage can be traced to Kumamoto, other places in Kyushu, and Yamaguchi. This flight to Okinawa will be the last leg of my nomadic Motherland tour: my first time out of Tokyo, to Kyushu, and to the land of sweet potatoes and centenarians. These pictures were taken at some of my favorite spots in Miyajima, Fukuoka & Nagasaki.

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