Coachella 2014
Photo Credit: Robin Harper

 Zoila Conan by William Mortensen, 1928.

Yoon Jinwook by Jdz Chung for GQ Korea Dec 2013

Vogue Greece, spring/summer 2005

The Lament
White-hot Helios struck him down with a singular ray of 
light, so enraged was he that a boy would dare to even want to reach so high. 
The boy pierced through the heavens and slapped the sea with a force that caused Poseidon to flinch, as if he’d accidentally hit his funny bone with the tip of his trident. 
A stream collected his battered body and let it settle at the base of a cove that waters the wooded 
pastures where Persephone used to gather wildflowers before she was wedded and bedded by Death. 
It was here that keen-nosed Thronia noted his arrival when his coppery blood tinged the salty aroma 
of her waters. His sun-singed skin glowed and so the eldest Naiad thought him a demigod; 
another one of Aphrodite’s bastards with wings like those, she was sure of it. 
Hawk-eyed Byzia spotted a trail of feathers and followed it till she came upon him. She cried out with glee at the find and 
begged Thronia her sister to let her fish out this bounty. She had an inkling that he was a hero of some kind 
on a quest for Heracles’ honor, or Achilles’ glory, but fell upon hard times - like Odysseus the cunning, whose ship also met the sun god’s wrath,

or Jason, whose children fed their mother’s scorn. 
But tender Aia felt his presence when her own heart slowed to match the pace of his. 
She felt Hades pry himself away from Persephone’s bosom to collect the drippings of a spirit draining from its cracked vessel into his cupped and bony hands. She knew that his soul was neither from a god’s nor a hero’s, but was that of a youth who made the mistake of harboring lofty ambitions and dreaming too deeply 
and believing that life would cradle him softly if mistakes were ever made, as youths naively tend to assume. 
Thronia kept her distance, always careful, positive that a child discarded by a goddess would bring misfortune to those who discovered it. 
Byzia, forever curious, couldn’t peel her eyes from his pretty face and wished he’d survive to kiss her mouth and lie in her lap as she played a bit from her lyre. 
But Aia, the youngest Naiad, in feeling all she could feel, was the one who mourned the deepest. 
She clutched his weakening body in order to press her lament into him and let his last image be of her so that with dying breath he’d be spared 
the sight of a sky so traitorous that it would fling him out of heaven, 
just to welcome him back again