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August 24 2017

River dog. Tired ropes tied. The bayou is whistling wispy languidly floating by. A dark purple hushed sky.

River dog guides me through the dark trees, there’s a lot of sounds in the forest brush. No one’s ever been in here, not since the floods and the storms. Hurricanes. Maybe there’s all kinds of things back here, lives forgotten. Beds, dressers. “Our old house is back there somewhere”, nobody ever found it?
I bet you missed those newspaper clippings. Are they back here too? Buried in the ground.
The air thick and clings to your throat and nose when you breathe. Sometimes you feel like you can’t. Breathe. Mosquitoes and lizards flying and crawling, kissing you. The pine needles form an inviting blanket, sharp and prickly. I lie down.

Slack or slow.
Waiting until dawn.

August 23 2017

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Remnants of Texas.

August 22 2017

Running along a forest line, unable to breathe. Everything feels like panic. There’s a stuffed rabbit toy resting against the tree, memorialized, left intentionally to rot, guarding a lost child. The forest gets darker, but colors are richer, everything feels more alive.
When I first moved there I had the repeating image, Virginia is a science experiment, Petri dish. Look at all the colors, all the different types of trees. Bright bloom, blume, jungle birds rise up. Rabbit rise up, and hops away.

I remember the target shack. The red light shining only for me. Dirt patch, muddy toes. A chair with ropes tied around it.
River dog, guiding me through the wooded path alone at night, little green frogs stick to the windows.
The target still watching, but sleepy. We’re alone now, it’s really late. He’s drinking coffee to stay awake.
I get tired too.

August 21 2017

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Remnants of Texas.

August 09 2017

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Brittanie Loren, 2013

August 08 2017

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my favorite photos of 2016 ♡

August 07 2017

Trying more...


I just fixed up some aspects on my theme that felt unorganized or out of place. Now I have some new links on the side bar which I think makes it a little easier to navigate. After searching through my own posts I’m realizing how shitty I’ve let this blog get over time, just because of laziness or being too busy with school or life, or being too stressed out and just posting stuff directly from my phone without editing anything. The whole point of keeping a diary is to memorialize the good things that happen, work through the bad things, and other wise remember the story of your life (because it’s so easy to forget). I don’t want to have months and months of random photos with no context, unedited stuff that even I don’t enjoy looking at… It’s hard because I always want to post everything, so I’m not very good at filtering and picking and choosing. It’s become so compulsive at this point that often times, because of how time consuming it all is, I don’t even enjoy any of it, it’s just something I feel the need to do but I hate doing it. But what I really hate is that feeling. The feeling of not enjoying something that I know I actually enjoy. It’s ridiculous. I blog because I want to, no one is making me. So I want to get that good feeling back out of it, instead of letting it feel like a chore.

So I’m going to try to put more effort into this blog and make it a fun place to spend my time again. I want to share what I find or what I experience with whoever is out there reading this, and I want it to be something you actually enjoy or connect with on some level. Not just obligatory “look at my photos because I’m your friend and you’re supposed to care” posts. Eek. Sorry if it ever feels like that to any of my friends who follow here. I don’t want my blog to be a source of annoyance or anxiety… I know it’s become that way for me and I’m ready to change that!

I have a handful of photos from when my brother was here still queuing through today, but once those are posted I wanna put more energy into my posts. I hope I can actually keep that intention. Overall I just wanna enjoy this blog more and make it what I actually want it to be.

I’m also feeling the need for the #studyblr side of this blog to come out more, and I’d like to participate more in the #actuallyautistic community… So hopefully I will have more/better posts on that front soon.

Here’s my week so far. I don’t have much planned, it’s the end of summer and school starts in half a month, so I’m just relaxing a bit and trying to organize my life as much as possible. I’m focusing on starting up my webcomic, thinking about art projects I’m excited about, and just generally getting ready for the school year to begin. I want to be able to keep a piece of myself alive and going despite being really busy this semester. I want better habits and better routine that allows for me to grow and learn in the direction I wanna go.

MON //
❑ Daily therapy hw
◼ Follow up email professor about assistantship
◼ Follow up email clinic about internship interview
◼ Look up textbooks for fall semester

TUE //
❑ Daily therapy hw

WED //
❑ 12pm+: Pick up Cash from vet when they call
❑ Drop film off at the lab
❑ Daily therapy hw (go somewhere new)

THU //
❑ 10am: Therapy
❑ Go to Target
❑ Go to Daiso
(Searching for school supplies & stuff for giveaway)
❑ Workout downtown (??)

❑ Seafair Blue Angels party at C & S’s house

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Brittanie Loren, 2013

August 06 2017

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Brittanie Loren, 2013

August 05 2017

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Brittanie Loren, 2013

August 04 2017

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Brittanie Loren, 2013

August 03 2017

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night obsession

August 02 2017

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expired cemetery

August 01 2017

July 31 2017

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Untitled (Insect Window), 1994, Gregory Crewdson

July 30 2017


Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened every day and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breath in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.

This hits me heavy.

July 29 2017

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July 15 2017

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Well I randomly decided to change the theme on my portfolio again because it was bugging me that my photos were so small on the other theme. It didn’t take too long, luckily. Can someone please tell me if it looks okay and is functioning correctly on your comp? Thanks! :)

June 11 2017

The crickets chirping and frogs making those noises frogs make in swampy lands. I wrote you late at night, sent in the AM early morning, my nervousness sending energy to the tungsten lights, and to my feet. Wanting to run, wanting to go somewhere far away. Disappear in the marsh, sink into the bayou. Alligator teeth in a jar. Newspaper clippings in the mud. Wires wrapped up in the living trees, skeletal fishing boats melting away with the tide. Low, high. Memories, lives passed.
I’ve got mosquito bites that feel like heavenly little mounds, I scratch them happily with a grin, alligator teeth. All the shapes and scary scenes in the night have always looked like friends to me here. Some storybook to open up, every sunset a new chapter, every stranger a life. Ropes tied around a chair. Lights flickering on and off. Knowing looks. A faraway room with the curtains drawn.

I let go and creep inside to hear my grandmother snoring lightly. I fade.

In the morning I heard her whispering something to her husband who has passed, or god maybe. A conversation I’m not supposed to be a part of. Someone responds back, but there’s no one else in the room. I fade.

I tug at my shoelaces. I push repeat on the song. I run. Slooow strumming, muggy air.
You wrote back.

Why do we need validation to be these nothing fictitious things? I’m the shapes in the night. Memories of a big black dog in a vision, red tongued. I forget these things in the daylight when my mom is running errands and my dad has left for work already. A horse calls me over when I pass by her home, but the ‘no trespassing’ signs keeps me from crossing into her world. We watch each other for a while. We both become memories for the other, and I walk back to the bayou. I turn the song off.

June 10 2017

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Keyport, WA (35mm, Diana f+)
Brittanie Loren, 2017

Double exposures and light leaks. I love toy cameras.

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