Zachary Forrest y Salazar @zdfs

https://zdfs.com/

Fuji X-T2. iPhone 7+. Oakland. @slackhq The guy in my photo is Italian Zach. He’s a real asshole.

  • Posts
    1671
  • Followers
    483
  • Following
    667
Outtakes from Berlin, 2016
  • Comments 2

Outtakes from Berlin, 2016

Advertising
This whole poem is worth your time.

It must be troubling for the god who loves you 
To ponder how much happier you’d be today 
Had you been able to glimpse your many futures.
It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings 
Driving home from the office, content with your week—
Three fine houses sold to deserving families—
Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened 
Had you gone to your second choice for college, 
Knowing the roommate you’d have been allotted 
Whose ardent opinions on painting and music 
Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion. 
A life thirty points above the life you’re living 
On any scale of satisfaction. And every point 
A thorn in the side of the god who loves you. 
You don’t want that, a large-souled man like you
Who tries to withhold from your wife the day’s disappointments 
So she can save her empathy for the children. 
And would you want this god to compare your wife 
With the woman you were destined to meet on the other campus? 
It hurts you to think of him ranking the conversation 
You’d have enjoyed over there higher in insight 
Than the conversation you’re used to.
And think how this loving god would feel 
Knowing that the man next in line for your wife 
Would have pleased her more than you ever will 
Even on your best days, when you really try. 
Can you sleep at night believing a god like that
Is pacing his cloudy bedroom, harassed by alternatives 
You’re spared by ignorance? The difference between what is
And what could have been will remain alive for him 
Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill 
Running out in the snow for the morning paper,
Losing eleven years that the god who loves you 
Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene 
Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him 
No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend 
No closer than the actual friend you made at college,
The one you haven’t written in months. Sit down tonight 
And write him about the life you can talk about 
With a claim to authority, the life you’ve witnessed, 
Which for all you know is the life you’ve chosen. - Carl Dennis
  • Comments 4

This whole poem is worth your time. It must be troubling for the god who loves you To ponder how much happier you’d be today Had you been able to glimpse your many futures. It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings Driving home from the office, content with your week— Three fine houses sold to deserving families— Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened Had you gone to your second choice for college, Knowing the roommate you’d have been allotted Whose ardent opinions on painting and music Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion. A life thirty points above the life you’re living On any scale of satisfaction. And every point A thorn in the side of the god who loves you. You don’t want that, a large-souled man like you Who tries to withhold from your wife the day’s disappointments So she can save her empathy for the children. And would you want this god to compare your wife With the woman you were destined to meet on the other campus? It hurts you to think of him ranking the conversation You’d have enjoyed over there higher in insight Than the conversation you’re used to. And think how this loving god would feel Knowing that the man next in line for your wife Would have pleased her more than you ever will Even on your best days, when you really try. Can you sleep at night believing a god like that Is pacing his cloudy bedroom, harassed by alternatives You’re spared by ignorance? The difference between what is And what could have been will remain alive for him Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill Running out in the snow for the morning paper, Losing eleven years that the god who loves you Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend No closer than the actual friend you made at college, The one you haven’t written in months. Sit down tonight And write him about the life you can talk about With a claim to authority, the life you’ve witnessed, Which for all you know is the life you’ve chosen. - Carl Dennis

I make you a box of darkness with a bird in its heart.
Voltas of acoustics, instinct & metaphor. It is not enough
To love you. It is not enough to want you destroyed. - Terrance Hayes
  • Comments 1

I make you a box of darkness with a bird in its heart. Voltas of acoustics, instinct & metaphor. It is not enough To love you. It is not enough to want you destroyed. - Terrance Hayes

Give me a church
made entirely of salt.
Let the walls hiss
and smoke when
I return to shore. - Aimee Nezhukumatathil
  • Comments 1

Give me a church made entirely of salt. Let the walls hiss and smoke when I return to shore. - Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Advertising
I wanted to be smuggled.
Wanted to ride past all the alarms,
just before that drop of sweat hit
the floor. Wanted to end up in god-
knows-whose hands, a heist.
“Obscene,” said a man behind me,
“just in piles like that ... obscene.”
Then I spilled another carat, laughing.
In Missouri you could pluck me
straight up off the ground. - Patricia Lockwood
  • Comments 4

I wanted to be smuggled. Wanted to ride past all the alarms, just before that drop of sweat hit the floor. Wanted to end up in god- knows-whose hands, a heist. “Obscene,” said a man behind me, “just in piles like that ... obscene.” Then I spilled another carat, laughing. In Missouri you could pluck me straight up off the ground. - Patricia Lockwood

Ain't no way I'm gonna last
Hiding in the seams, I can't move the past
Feel like I'm about to crash
Riding on my line, keep keeping on - The War On Drugs
  • Comments 3

Ain't no way I'm gonna last Hiding in the seams, I can't move the past Feel like I'm about to crash Riding on my line, keep keeping on - The War On Drugs

Neon Pismo
  • Comments 4

Neon Pismo

Advertising
Trying to like San Francisco.
  • Comments 3

Trying to like San Francisco.

@anumeha17 and I went on a 📷➕🚶🏻to celebrate her new Fuji.
  • Comments 4

@anumeha17 and I went on a 📷➕🚶🏻to celebrate her new Fuji.

The skyline waits for the world. The skyline waits for the fall. But you shouldn’t have come at all.
  • Comments 4

The skyline waits for the world. The skyline waits for the fall. But you shouldn’t have come at all.

Advertising
Oakland I

On the BART from 12th, I stare across
the train at a homeless man. He stinks
and he appears to be talking to me
and I watch him as his arms wave and
move and have their being in a crowded
car because no one wants to sit next
to a junkie. I send hand-wave emojis
to my friends when I want to die.
They think I’m saying hello. I wait
for the occasional text message back
asking how I am, if I’m ok, but my friends
are happy and have beautiful children.
I have thoughts about heroin, and how
many of us would detach from this life
if the passing wasn't painful for the people
we love. I can see this hope in the junkie,
in how his body writhes when it's high.
Slain in the spirit of his drug, he reaches
for the invisible, babbling word-like sounds
from his spirit to the uncomfortable people
all watching.  Almost in tongues. Almost
absent from the body. Almost separation.
  • Comments 4

Oakland I On the BART from 12th, I stare across the train at a homeless man. He stinks and he appears to be talking to me and I watch him as his arms wave and move and have their being in a crowded car because no one wants to sit next to a junkie. I send hand-wave emojis to my friends when I want to die. They think I’m saying hello. I wait for the occasional text message back asking how I am, if I’m ok, but my friends are happy and have beautiful children. I have thoughts about heroin, and how many of us would detach from this life if the passing wasn't painful for the people we love. I can see this hope in the junkie, in how his body writhes when it's high. Slain in the spirit of his drug, he reaches for the invisible, babbling word-like sounds from his spirit to the uncomfortable people all watching. Almost in tongues. Almost absent from the body. Almost separation.

Karina(@karinabarrazabranham) looks sweet, but that’s the con. She’s very scary. 😂🤷🏻‍♂️ Taken in Austin Texas, March 2017
  • Comments 1

Karina(@karinabarrazabranham) looks sweet, but that’s the con. She’s very scary. 😂🤷🏻‍♂️ Taken in Austin Texas, March 2017

NEXT