julius warhol, paul frank/andy warhol foundation; ca. 2002 i'd kicked myself after the fact for not wearing my vintage paul frank tee that day, a collab with the andy warhol foundation, circa early aughts. maybe that's what led to the fate of pan's fifth, i thought. we'd stayed until the museum closed, having wandered the … Continue reading requiem for pan’s fifth.
one year -- from there to here. 11 august 2018. from there. from there on the couch. where i would wake at three a.m. one ordinary saturday morning, out of my doze to find my partner, then. dead on the floor, not yet forty years old. a cruel trick of the fates, i'd find myself … Continue reading one year — from there to here.
tiny book #1, ca. 2000 - 2006 // photographed by pan ellington. i first wrote this line on the very first page of the very first tiny notebook i ever carried. begun years ago, the specific number of which i will forgo mentioning here. it was one of those lines that tend to pop into … Continue reading life and death in one hour.
alcatraz federal prison, 22 november 2018; photographed by pan ellingtonI stood on the top deck at the back of the boat, hands in my pockets, wondering at the depth and warmth of the darkness and the very bright light of the moon. It would be my first adventure without Her, something I’d wanted to see … Continue reading for Our love & for that morning.
25 june 2018; photographed by pan ellington.“I suppose it’s like the ticking crocodile, isn’t it? Time is chasing after all of us.” I’ve been staring at this blank page for months now, feeling the weight of Her death, the dichotomy that its sudden tragedy being years in the making, the meaning it has & will … Continue reading against the dying of the light — the third piece.
for bea, 7 july 2018; written & photographed by pan ellington. Have you ever watched the narrative of your life fold back upon itself in variations of the same theme, playing itself out in repeating patterns over the years? Most of the time I can’t help but fucking laugh. This time, though, there’s really nothing … Continue reading brave. for beatrice.
Her cards to me in our boo radley box #1; photographed by pan ellington.These are the pages I’ll surround myself with, pinned up on the walls as the world burns down all around me… “when my time comes around / lay me gently in the cold, dark earth, / no grave can hold my body … Continue reading requiem for elizabeth webster – my bird with peter pan eyes.
This is a bittersweet fucking story to write. Only this far in, my eyes already filled from flipping through, trying to choose the first photo that I’ll use. She was unlike any other that had been in my life before that. My previous a Labrador / Pit Bull mix that came to be known as … Continue reading strong and loving — song for stuart elizabeth ellington.
I’d seen the news break as I moved from the couch to my bedroom early that Sunday morning. Half here, half there, I don’t remember exactly what I’d read. A shooting. A nightclub. Orlando. Then I drifted off to sleep again, an echo of a long ago Tuesday. I don’t remember exactly what I was … Continue reading empty and heavy.
christmas, downey, california, ca. For me the erasure began before she actually died. My inclination here is to write, “long before,” but that would be misleading, you see, because she had her first surgery when I was five and was dead before I turned nine. Three, four years, tops, is, in no way a long … Continue reading marty.