Shortly after this summer’s trip to New Orleans, I posted the iPhone photos from the St. Louis Cemetery. Here’s a handful of the DSLR ones also. Some of the subjects are the same, thought it would be interesting to see the difference between forced filter from the iPhone and my own mad editing skills in Photoshop. Ha.
“We held hands on the last night on earth. Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees, screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves. It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river. So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay, and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease. In our cancer of passion you said, ‘Death is a midnight runner.’ “
“The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide. We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress. The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop. The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime. I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall, but you made me realize that my ticket wasn’t good for two. I rode alone.”
“You said, “The cinders are falling like snow.” There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of blue and grey. Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city. The sun has stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines.”
“Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.”
–A.F.I, Sing the Sorrow.
–Photos taken at the St. Louis #1 Cemetery in New Orleans. One of the most beautiful and dilapidated sanctuaries I’ve ever seen. Legit photos to follow, just the Instagrams for now.
Doorbells are like faces. As varied as a crowd of people, each with their own idiosyncratic design and quirks. The more wear and tear the better, in my opinion. They have character and soul. We don’t have these in Austin, do we? I haven’t seen any. Walking through the French Quarter, I could have stopped at every other doorway to shoot their doorbells (maybe someday I will).
I visited New Orleans for the first time last month, to attend the most exciting liquid event of the year — Tales of the Cocktail! I will admit, I always thought that going to New Orleans would be quite frightening — I have always harbored a deep fear of all things voodoo (which is weird because I’m not religious at all), and have been both compelled and afraid of this aspect of the city’s reputation for a long time.
The other prominent aspect of New Orleans is Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street, an overindulgence fest with trashy sugar drinks, boobs and beads, which I’ve always tried to avoid, because I’m a classy girl (quiet down now naysayers, there’s no room for your banter here). So, anyway, I figured I might as well get over all these pretensions and check out the Big Easy, and what better time or excuse than a cocktail festival?