Here are some pictures I took in a ravine in North Tacoma.

Under the Bridge

The sewer system flowing beneath North Tacoma

I had a dream last night that I was walking through a series of off and on-ramps, walking with some friends and talking. Soon the city lights began to dampen, and the road beneath us started to turn to dirt and debris. We were still walking along these structures, but now they were covered in garbage and organic matter. The hum of the city disappeared. Soon the roadways before us weren’t clear enough for us to tell they were once roads, and we took a much smaller path to the right which was walled by large rocks. The group started walking in a line instead of side-by-side. We weren’t talking about the things we were talking about in the beginning of the dream. We had less to say to each other, but still had an affinity that transcended talk.

We came to a rocky den, and heard a small child who woke up in the middle of the night say to his parents he heard us walking around. They slept on shreds of small padding and used old, dirty pillows for sleeping. The child didn’t know whether we were friends or foes, and this conflicted us. We didn’t speak, and the parents never said anything either, but they knew we were not dangerous and gathered we were just passing through.

These pictures in this small set are similar to the dream.

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“After The Collapse”

We can only base our knowledge of life in a different era based on own perceptions from this era. We can gather impressions of life in the Middle Ages, but we cannot really know what it was like to live in that age because we live in the present age, and see everything through the lens of the present age. This is a basic understanding of historical relativism. We have to historicize, always historicize, otherwise what we talk about becomes centric to our own era and state of mind. “After the collapse” is no different. We don’t really know what life would be like after this point of departure.


Places to sleep under a bridge


Shopping baskets left under a bridge.


Writings on walls are like cave writings.

There is something about writings on a wall that make a place feel more livable than otherwise. I think this has to do with our ancient curiosity for symbolism and cave-writings. The place you live in tells the story of how you got there, what you’re doing now, and what you think is beautiful.

The age we live in is very sterile because we cannot freely tell human stories on city walls, our modern caves. This tradition is completely erased because it is seen as unclean and offensive. We have nothing to write on, nothing to tell the story of our city or of our species anymore, except in cyberspace. In most cities there are no “free walls”.