Thursday, June 4, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
thought
"Perhaps people like us cannot love. Only normal people can- that is their secret" -Herman Hesse.
Monday, April 27, 2009
pardon all the time that you've thrown into your pale grey garden
So...it's been awhile.
I have a lot of songs for now, this moment, but not words. I'm not sure why that is.
Everything is changing, everyone feels it in the air, their bones, the grass. It creeps up your spine real slow and like a scripture, makes you feel uncomfortable. I don't know why, this is simply how it is, how it has become. We are all chained to change and to the illusion of it.
I've got grand plans for my sense of satisfaction and purpose this summer and subsequent year but am still despite myself, inherently frightened to turn my back on everything that I have ever known or been taught is acceptable.
I have a lot of songs for now, this moment, but not words. I'm not sure why that is.
Everything is changing, everyone feels it in the air, their bones, the grass. It creeps up your spine real slow and like a scripture, makes you feel uncomfortable. I don't know why, this is simply how it is, how it has become. We are all chained to change and to the illusion of it.
I've got grand plans for my sense of satisfaction and purpose this summer and subsequent year but am still despite myself, inherently frightened to turn my back on everything that I have ever known or been taught is acceptable.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
i used to do handstands for you.
I am in the library and it is 9:17 a.m. and I have not gotten any sleep. Luckily, my homework is now done and I have black coffee in hand which will greatly aid my exhausted body in remaining awake throughout the ever so enthralling Library Information class I have at 10:45. Isn't homework ridiculous? You think they would have come up with a better approach to learning by now. "Worksheets" in college make me want to laugh, cry, and die simultaneously. I just reread these few sentences and I think they get across the state of my mind right now so I guess that's that. Go caffeine!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Just Be Here Now
"I will take you to the Big Tree if you want to go there."
Sat on wet grass intersection of sky and stone, two oaks
extend upward like hands saying alms to oppression.
Lost phrases hang between us like constellations.
I do not have words for your lack of words.
Before us,the souls of stars long dead.
Maintain the illusion.
Is that a cricket or a car alarm?
We are among the trees tonight.
Sat on wet grass intersection of sky and stone, two oaks
extend upward like hands saying alms to oppression.
Lost phrases hang between us like constellations.
I do not have words for your lack of words.
Before us,the souls of stars long dead.
Maintain the illusion.
Is that a cricket or a car alarm?
We are among the trees tonight.
Monday, March 16, 2009
listening
This list is primarily intended to make it easier for myself to continuously watch some videos that i have already wanted to be
continuously watching.
continuously watching.
forever in debt to your priceless advice
night one: Ela and I cooked & ate like kings, bruschetta, stuffing, & lamb w/rosemary
night two: lack of pictures. Fernando & Crowe came to chill. We went to see Jacquie at this strangely fun bar near Fordham in the Bronx, hung out with some bros, made them buy us shots (Jager then Jager then something mysterious that may or may not have been a Kamikaze then Bailey's), hit a Dutch that wasn't ours, chased some bagpipers, then got driven back home to my apartment, & cooked another amazing meal at 3 a.m.
night three: Ela and I found ourselves in the great New York City. We went to Crowe's apartment on the UES and hung out for a little while until we got sick of watching basketball on a flatscreen t.v. and drinking forties. Eventually we made it downtown and walked around for awhile until we found this quaint used bookstore near St. Marks with trippy posters in the window from old Grateful Dead concerts. It was lust at first sight. We spent a half an hour in there, mostly drifting between the philosophy and poetry sections, until we decided that the cash in our pocket wasn't going to miraculously multiply as time wore on. (If only such things were possible.) Our next discovery was a wonderful little used record store that literally made my head hurt because there were so many good albums in it. Ela and I vowed to go back when we had more money and headed out to meet Oli, who was just returning from D.C., at Continental (because who can beat 5 shots for $10). After getting sufficiently drunk, we headed to Lit. On the way, we saw this great mural of a man in a boat on the ocean. We drunkenly admired it and stole a sign that was abandoned nearby that read "NO SMOKING."
At Lit, there was the usual Jager shots, Jack & Coke, Svedka Clementine (in actuality, quite good), some forty-five year old Harley Davidson enthusiast who just had to tell me that I was "seriously sexy," and a few guys who bought Ela and I some Red Stripes. We proceeded to the next bar but apparently were more inebriated than expected and ended up sitting alongside some building in the midst of construction. Somewhere along the line I started telling two of those skinny punk kids who hang out alongside Search & Destroy that they obviously did not understand the philosophy of punk if they were standing on the streets politely begging passersby for money. "Tell them they're fucking slaves! Make them hate you! Why would you want their money that's tarnished by consumerism and everything that you're supposedly against?" Then I made out with them. Then we went home.
night four: Exercise extravaganza. Ela and I hit the gym, dance studio, then went for a walk and run outside.
night five: Back to the city. Entrepreneur time! Ela and I baked cookies that we decorated with icing and went through the clothes we never wear any more and decided to sell them to make some extra money to go out.
We found a corner in Williamsburg. Right under this sign "The Whitest Kids You Know." It wasn't even intentional. How perfect. $132 in a little less than 4 hours. Oh and the best part, we were featured in a documentary which will appear on French t.v. On the off chance that this becomes critically acclaimed, I will leave everything behind in a heartbeat and move to France. Plus, we got to go back to the used bookstore near St. Marks and buy a book each! I got Dublin's James Joyce and Ela got a Saul Williams book of poetry which we read aloud from the whole night.
At night, we ventured back to Continental where upon entrance, we ordered 5 Jager shots each. Then straight to the Jukebox for requests we never even got to hear because there were so many people. Ela chose Kashmir by Zeppelin, I chose Suedehead by the Smiths. We both wanted to hear the Strokes as well. Somewhere along the line we ended up meeting these IT guys who bought us at least 15 tequila shots and Irish car bombs each. Then we made out. Then Sonja, Oli, Ari, and Dave came and we did a few more Jager shots with them. Then we left. I got falafel and shared it with everyone as we walked to the next bar. Oli and I somehow got separated from everyone and decided to head down to the LES. Annex then Dark Room, which was a good time. Then we found everyone else and Ela and I went home.
Spring break was all in all, a great success.
night two: lack of pictures. Fernando & Crowe came to chill. We went to see Jacquie at this strangely fun bar near Fordham in the Bronx, hung out with some bros, made them buy us shots (Jager then Jager then something mysterious that may or may not have been a Kamikaze then Bailey's), hit a Dutch that wasn't ours, chased some bagpipers, then got driven back home to my apartment, & cooked another amazing meal at 3 a.m.
night three: Ela and I found ourselves in the great New York City. We went to Crowe's apartment on the UES and hung out for a little while until we got sick of watching basketball on a flatscreen t.v. and drinking forties. Eventually we made it downtown and walked around for awhile until we found this quaint used bookstore near St. Marks with trippy posters in the window from old Grateful Dead concerts. It was lust at first sight. We spent a half an hour in there, mostly drifting between the philosophy and poetry sections, until we decided that the cash in our pocket wasn't going to miraculously multiply as time wore on. (If only such things were possible.) Our next discovery was a wonderful little used record store that literally made my head hurt because there were so many good albums in it. Ela and I vowed to go back when we had more money and headed out to meet Oli, who was just returning from D.C., at Continental (because who can beat 5 shots for $10). After getting sufficiently drunk, we headed to Lit. On the way, we saw this great mural of a man in a boat on the ocean. We drunkenly admired it and stole a sign that was abandoned nearby that read "NO SMOKING."
At Lit, there was the usual Jager shots, Jack & Coke, Svedka Clementine (in actuality, quite good), some forty-five year old Harley Davidson enthusiast who just had to tell me that I was "seriously sexy," and a few guys who bought Ela and I some Red Stripes. We proceeded to the next bar but apparently were more inebriated than expected and ended up sitting alongside some building in the midst of construction. Somewhere along the line I started telling two of those skinny punk kids who hang out alongside Search & Destroy that they obviously did not understand the philosophy of punk if they were standing on the streets politely begging passersby for money. "Tell them they're fucking slaves! Make them hate you! Why would you want their money that's tarnished by consumerism and everything that you're supposedly against?" Then I made out with them. Then we went home.
night four: Exercise extravaganza. Ela and I hit the gym, dance studio, then went for a walk and run outside.
night five: Back to the city. Entrepreneur time! Ela and I baked cookies that we decorated with icing and went through the clothes we never wear any more and decided to sell them to make some extra money to go out.
We found a corner in Williamsburg. Right under this sign "The Whitest Kids You Know." It wasn't even intentional. How perfect. $132 in a little less than 4 hours. Oh and the best part, we were featured in a documentary which will appear on French t.v. On the off chance that this becomes critically acclaimed, I will leave everything behind in a heartbeat and move to France. Plus, we got to go back to the used bookstore near St. Marks and buy a book each! I got Dublin's James Joyce and Ela got a Saul Williams book of poetry which we read aloud from the whole night.
At night, we ventured back to Continental where upon entrance, we ordered 5 Jager shots each. Then straight to the Jukebox for requests we never even got to hear because there were so many people. Ela chose Kashmir by Zeppelin, I chose Suedehead by the Smiths. We both wanted to hear the Strokes as well. Somewhere along the line we ended up meeting these IT guys who bought us at least 15 tequila shots and Irish car bombs each. Then we made out. Then Sonja, Oli, Ari, and Dave came and we did a few more Jager shots with them. Then we left. I got falafel and shared it with everyone as we walked to the next bar. Oli and I somehow got separated from everyone and decided to head down to the LES. Annex then Dark Room, which was a good time. Then we found everyone else and Ela and I went home.
Spring break was all in all, a great success.
Friday, March 6, 2009
sunshine and clouds and everything proud.
What do you need?
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced I could be happy on the most simple terms: a small place with a large piece of land by the forest or the ocean with an old fashioned oak desk and my smith corona typewriter and large windows and a flower garden.
I want to go to Cuba. Guess I'll have to figure a way to do that while I'm still a student.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced I could be happy on the most simple terms: a small place with a large piece of land by the forest or the ocean with an old fashioned oak desk and my smith corona typewriter and large windows and a flower garden.
I want to go to Cuba. Guess I'll have to figure a way to do that while I'm still a student.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
beware the ides of march
You know, there's something about all of it that is just inane. An existence where we wander around, trying not to see or touch. The words spoken flowing so freely, sometimes bolstered by meaning, sometimes hollow and can you really ever distinguish? The beautiful is lost to the majority and that my friends, is lamentable. We destroy it instead of ensuring the protection that it is in need of. People do not regularly speak of the moon or trees, do not stand outside each day to watch the sun set, cannot smell the sweet aroma of awareness because it is not necessary to them. They do not need it. People who are happy.
Being "happy" is easy, my friends. Being "happy" is a retreat within the depths of disillusion or ignorance or career or religion or numerous other factors which contribute to the blindness that is becoming increasingly indicative of the society we live in. Does happiness exist? Yes. But perhaps it is a debilitation rather than a sense of relief. One cannot always be happy, but rather, will experience these crystalline moments, examples, lucidations, epiphanies, triumphs and cling to them forever, trying to alleviate the emptiness, and the memory of a time that has now become at best, foreign, and at worst, completely lost to us. We are haunted, my friends, haunted by our happiness and the ghosts it has claimed.
I wish I were not so nostalgic. I also wish that spring would come. But what good are wishes anyway?
Being "happy" is easy, my friends. Being "happy" is a retreat within the depths of disillusion or ignorance or career or religion or numerous other factors which contribute to the blindness that is becoming increasingly indicative of the society we live in. Does happiness exist? Yes. But perhaps it is a debilitation rather than a sense of relief. One cannot always be happy, but rather, will experience these crystalline moments, examples, lucidations, epiphanies, triumphs and cling to them forever, trying to alleviate the emptiness, and the memory of a time that has now become at best, foreign, and at worst, completely lost to us. We are haunted, my friends, haunted by our happiness and the ghosts it has claimed.
I wish I were not so nostalgic. I also wish that spring would come. But what good are wishes anyway?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
the most remarkable thing about coming home to you is the feeling of being in motion again, it's the most extraordinary thing in the world
Saturday, February 21, 2009
feelin good
Today I had the pleasure of hearing someone's voice that I wasn't even aware I wanted to hear echoing through my voicemail. I have to call Mr. Shapiro back tomorrow but it sounds like I got the internship! I am oh so elated. This means (1) I get to write/edit/be an actual author/filmmaker's bitch for an extended amount of time (yes, this makes me happy- call me masochistic) and (2) I will have a reason to be in the city more often (which means happy hour after work every so often, finding new falafel places, searching for records on arbitrary street corners, beacon's closet, walking anywhere/everywhere ipod in hand, all the other wonderful and less than wonderful reasons I fell in love with New York to begin with). You may not know his name (you probably don't, I didn't) but that being said, Dana Adam Shapiro is the man. Like, the fucking man. He had a senior editor's position at Spin but gave it up to make what turned out to be an award winning documentary called Murderball. It's about paraplegics who play rugby. Also, check out this letter he wrote. It is entitled My Bloody Valentine and is aptly composed of the lyrics to 69 break up songs:
"Dear __________,
Your picture is still on my wall. A little black cloud in a dress, with your chrome heart shining in the sun — so pretty when you’re unfaithful to me. You don’t look different but you have changed.
It’s coming on Christmas. They’re cutting down trees, they’re putting up reindeer. It’s so cold in this house. I can’t stand the rain against my window. The bed’s too big without you. I’ll be sleeping with the television on, talking to the shadows from one o’clock till four, thinking how it used to be. It’s a desperate situation. All I perceive is wasted and broken. Yeah, we still go to dinner sometimes, but we don’t sneak a kiss when the waitress turns around. I’ve been forgotten.
You don’t love me and I know now. Nothing hurts like someone who knows everything about you leaving you behind.
Everybody’s high on consolation. Who would’ve thought that a boy like me could come to this? I go walkin’ after midnight, doing anything just to get you off of my mind. Confidentially, I never had much pride. But now I rock a bar stool and I drink for two. And then the jukebox plays a song I used to know:
“I used to fart under the covers and she’d just laugh.
She even cleaned my balls when we would take a bath.”
There’s always something there to remind me. I saw two shooting stars last night — I wished on them but they were only satellites. Is it wrong to wish on space hardware? It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time. Did you stand by me? No, not at all. Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
Oh shit. Don’t speak. Shut up, ’cause I know all about it. You keep lyin’ when you oughta be truthin’. Heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another you been messin’ around. Your cheatin’ heart, headed for the cheatin’ side of town. Kind of evil make me wanna grab my submachine.
You thought you could keep this shit from me? Into the arms of Mr. Rebound — that alley-cat-coat-wearin’ crumbcake, like a matador with his pork sword. You swallow his kids? Lookee here, honey — you don’t need to be coy. Why’d ya do it? What’cha gonna say now? Lift me up, hold me, just like you told me you was gonna do. That’s what I thought — you’re pitiful.
I wish I was as mellow as, for instance, Jackson Browne, but “Fountain of Sorrow” my ass, motherfucker. I’ve lost my equilibrium, my car keys, and my pride. There’s only so much wine you can drink in one life, but it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass. I’m glad that you’re sorry, but it’s too late, baby, now it’s too late. Cry me a river. Here’s a quarter, call someone who cares.
Wait. Give me my money back, you bitch. And don’t forget to give me back my black T-shirt. Take my picture off the wall. Give back my TV. I don’t wanna walk around with you. I don’t like a thing about your mother and I hate your daddy’s guts too. You can tell your dog to bite my leg. I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes — you’d know what a drag it is to see you. You’re just…a fuck. I can’t explain it ’cause I think you suck. I’m taking pride in telling you to fuck off and die. Die, die, my darling. Just shut your pretty mouth. Don’t call me anymore. And the next time your ass gets horny, go fuck one of your funky-ass friends.
I’d show you everywhere you’re wrong but I’m never talking to you again. If the phone doesn’t ring, you’ll know that it’s me.
Loveless,
__________ "
Oh and here's some nostalgia. My favorite episode, probably:
"Dear __________,
Your picture is still on my wall. A little black cloud in a dress, with your chrome heart shining in the sun — so pretty when you’re unfaithful to me. You don’t look different but you have changed.
It’s coming on Christmas. They’re cutting down trees, they’re putting up reindeer. It’s so cold in this house. I can’t stand the rain against my window. The bed’s too big without you. I’ll be sleeping with the television on, talking to the shadows from one o’clock till four, thinking how it used to be. It’s a desperate situation. All I perceive is wasted and broken. Yeah, we still go to dinner sometimes, but we don’t sneak a kiss when the waitress turns around. I’ve been forgotten.
You don’t love me and I know now. Nothing hurts like someone who knows everything about you leaving you behind.
Everybody’s high on consolation. Who would’ve thought that a boy like me could come to this? I go walkin’ after midnight, doing anything just to get you off of my mind. Confidentially, I never had much pride. But now I rock a bar stool and I drink for two. And then the jukebox plays a song I used to know:
“I used to fart under the covers and she’d just laugh.
She even cleaned my balls when we would take a bath.”
There’s always something there to remind me. I saw two shooting stars last night — I wished on them but they were only satellites. Is it wrong to wish on space hardware? It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time. Did you stand by me? No, not at all. Tell me, where did you sleep last night?
Oh shit. Don’t speak. Shut up, ’cause I know all about it. You keep lyin’ when you oughta be truthin’. Heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another you been messin’ around. Your cheatin’ heart, headed for the cheatin’ side of town. Kind of evil make me wanna grab my submachine.
You thought you could keep this shit from me? Into the arms of Mr. Rebound — that alley-cat-coat-wearin’ crumbcake, like a matador with his pork sword. You swallow his kids? Lookee here, honey — you don’t need to be coy. Why’d ya do it? What’cha gonna say now? Lift me up, hold me, just like you told me you was gonna do. That’s what I thought — you’re pitiful.
I wish I was as mellow as, for instance, Jackson Browne, but “Fountain of Sorrow” my ass, motherfucker. I’ve lost my equilibrium, my car keys, and my pride. There’s only so much wine you can drink in one life, but it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass. I’m glad that you’re sorry, but it’s too late, baby, now it’s too late. Cry me a river. Here’s a quarter, call someone who cares.
Wait. Give me my money back, you bitch. And don’t forget to give me back my black T-shirt. Take my picture off the wall. Give back my TV. I don’t wanna walk around with you. I don’t like a thing about your mother and I hate your daddy’s guts too. You can tell your dog to bite my leg. I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes — you’d know what a drag it is to see you. You’re just…a fuck. I can’t explain it ’cause I think you suck. I’m taking pride in telling you to fuck off and die. Die, die, my darling. Just shut your pretty mouth. Don’t call me anymore. And the next time your ass gets horny, go fuck one of your funky-ass friends.
I’d show you everywhere you’re wrong but I’m never talking to you again. If the phone doesn’t ring, you’ll know that it’s me.
Loveless,
__________ "
Oh and here's some nostalgia. My favorite episode, probably:
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
of course
the planet for scorpio is pluto.
Pluto
Pluto is concerned with the unconscious or things not seen. It is associated with genitalia and human reproduction. Buried emotions tend to be one of it’s most active traits.
Elimination or abrupt change are a part of this planets characteristics.
Pluto, the mythical god, was the one that carried people to his land of death beyond the river Styx. No one could escape him. He was great at seduction.
This planet’s negative traits are slyness, criticism, secretiveness and cruelty.
Pluto is the planet of profound inner change and growth.
Pluto
Pluto is concerned with the unconscious or things not seen. It is associated with genitalia and human reproduction. Buried emotions tend to be one of it’s most active traits.
Elimination or abrupt change are a part of this planets characteristics.
Pluto, the mythical god, was the one that carried people to his land of death beyond the river Styx. No one could escape him. He was great at seduction.
This planet’s negative traits are slyness, criticism, secretiveness and cruelty.
Pluto is the planet of profound inner change and growth.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
vingt et un
To describe last night using any word other than "shitshow," would be to err. It was Courtney's twenty-first birthday so we did what any good standing friends would do: ordered two twenty four racks of Coors Light to our college campus (thanks completely legitimate beer delivery service) and started the toasting at 5:30 p.m. There was some chugging, some poetry, some painting, some dancing, some laughter. Some Jack Daniels? Some Jack Daniels. Then around 10 we decided it would be a good idea to take the Valiant to what is possibly the sleaziest bar in White Plains (you guessed it, Kelly's). Courtney tried to get on with a just opened Tall Boy, but the driver was afraid of it spilling, so she chugged the whole thing infront of him. Once we got to Kelly's one of our friends who was using my old driver's license couldn't get in so I proceeded to rationally (read: belligerently) argue with the bouncers and then we all left for another bar (Korova, which is actually very cool, it's modeled after the bar in one of my favorite books- A Clockwork Orange). This is where the night becomes hazy. There were lots of Pink Ladys (highly recommend this drink). There was also a point in time when I convinced the "DJ" (I use this term lightly) to let me play my own music only to realize that I had left my ipod at school. Oh and funny story, our friend threw up on the bartender's coat and our friend's friend threw up on what we later found out was the bartender's car. Then we got kicked out. I just saw Sonja and the bartender apparently texted her something along the lines of "Man, you guys were fun last night."
I haven't been writing enough lately, but this is my most recent poem:
New York
City of the insomniac
the strip steak
the philanderer
Your air is as rotten as your disposition.
Your gold paved streets are no longer visible,
no longer neccessary.
They say your have lost your soul.
...perhaps they are not wrong.
I have born witness under aching constellations
to your metabolic negligence that permeates the streets
like poison.
You are a casualty of the apathetic.
They say you are vengeful and I believe them,
for I have seen the faces of the dead who haunt your
haggard island in shackles leashed by men in suits
that cost too much.
You must realize you are enslaved of your own accord.
They say you are immoral and I believe them,
for you are the city of the existentialist, seeking solace
in the absurdity at the corner of Broadway
and desolation.
Your thousand churches are ornate but uninhabited.
They say you are deceitful and I believe them,
the web of lies you have so intricately spun falls like a
curtain draping your steel structures in shadow.
Your skies are not blue but grey.
They say you are destructive and I believe them,
answering in defense that it is but your nature.
You do not heed your own advice.
Oh ye of little faith, come disappear here
in this place, this empire, this inferno
to which one is drawn like a fly to flame.
You will become a familiar lover pr a recurring mistake
amidst the nothingness.
Come and show me a city with so persistent a spirit,
who regurgitates failure so often it has grown accustomed
to selling it as success, head held in the clouds so as to
look down on all of creation seen as inferior.
New York, you are instinctive and calculating with an
artillery of charm that is at best savage.
Always erecting,
destroying,
erecting once again,
you are cunning in your creation.
I can hear the contagious laughter rolling off your tongue
and across the Hudson as I pound away at keys that
will never feel your blind happiness or desperation.
If you never spoke again, it would be too soon.
I really miss the city. Everything about here is too small.
I haven't been writing enough lately, but this is my most recent poem:
New York
City of the insomniac
the strip steak
the philanderer
Your air is as rotten as your disposition.
Your gold paved streets are no longer visible,
no longer neccessary.
They say your have lost your soul.
...perhaps they are not wrong.
I have born witness under aching constellations
to your metabolic negligence that permeates the streets
like poison.
You are a casualty of the apathetic.
They say you are vengeful and I believe them,
for I have seen the faces of the dead who haunt your
haggard island in shackles leashed by men in suits
that cost too much.
You must realize you are enslaved of your own accord.
They say you are immoral and I believe them,
for you are the city of the existentialist, seeking solace
in the absurdity at the corner of Broadway
and desolation.
Your thousand churches are ornate but uninhabited.
They say you are deceitful and I believe them,
the web of lies you have so intricately spun falls like a
curtain draping your steel structures in shadow.
Your skies are not blue but grey.
They say you are destructive and I believe them,
answering in defense that it is but your nature.
You do not heed your own advice.
Oh ye of little faith, come disappear here
in this place, this empire, this inferno
to which one is drawn like a fly to flame.
You will become a familiar lover pr a recurring mistake
amidst the nothingness.
Come and show me a city with so persistent a spirit,
who regurgitates failure so often it has grown accustomed
to selling it as success, head held in the clouds so as to
look down on all of creation seen as inferior.
New York, you are instinctive and calculating with an
artillery of charm that is at best savage.
Always erecting,
destroying,
erecting once again,
you are cunning in your creation.
I can hear the contagious laughter rolling off your tongue
and across the Hudson as I pound away at keys that
will never feel your blind happiness or desperation.
If you never spoke again, it would be too soon.
I really miss the city. Everything about here is too small.
Monday, February 9, 2009
everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
It's kind of unreal, life. I wish that I could snap my fingers and the ribbon on my typewriter would magically be fixed, that would help things. My instincts are quite good and I don't know why I don't trust them more, why I don't trust anything enough. Also I drink far too much coffee.
Enough introspection and bullshit, I'm never going to get to the meaning of life, the heart of it, on the world wide web...pretty sure that is irrefutable.
When will spring come? The question I keep asking myself.
Madonna's still got it.
Enough introspection and bullshit, I'm never going to get to the meaning of life, the heart of it, on the world wide web...pretty sure that is irrefutable.
When will spring come? The question I keep asking myself.
Madonna's still got it.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
if you're still alive by the time you're twenty-five should i kill you like you asked me to?
“ Words, words, words! They shut one off from the universe. Three quarters of the time, one’s never in contact with things, only with the beastly words that stand for them."
— Aldous Huxley, Point Counter Point
The past week could have benefitted from walking around with this attached to my forehead. I really think that the depths of winter make people crazier than they'd like to admit to...logic is certainly discarded once we reach for our heavy coats ("no I absolutely cannot cross the quad to get to Dammann, that is too far") and I can't even begin to enumerate the amount of misconstrued conversations, there's no way the persistent cold weather drunken stupor is helping that either. As for me, I have taken to obnoxious amounts of black coffee, warm socks, and curling up under two down comforters.
I have also rediscovered my love for classical music (don't hate), especially Brahms.
Friday, January 30, 2009
maybe the scorpion can't help but sting
A lot of good things and a lot of shitty things have happened the past few days but for once, I don't fucking want to talk about it.
Is there a better character on t.v. then Nancy Botwin?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
when you're strange faces come out of the rain
I am a complete and total sucker for street art. Ian Curtis by Jef Aerosol:
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
some visual proof that the past week actually happened.
Monday, January 26, 2009
taking care of business
I finally cleaned my room, which was excellent considering that I have found it is far easier to function in a space which possesses some sense of order, however minimal. Since I had around two hours at my disposal, the results were pleasing. I was so proud of myself that I took a few pictures, which I will post at some point later.
Thought: Was there anything cooler than Old New York?
Picture this...and red wine.
I keep thinking about how insane it was that prohibition actually happened. Like, pause with me for a moment on the subject. So, there was a point in time when it was illegal not to mention socially unacceptable to consume alcohol. Now if you live in New York City in an apartment close enough in proximity to a liquor store, you can get alcohol delivered to your door. Oh, how times have changed.
Hannah, now I know why you want to hear The Velvet Underground's record. I wish I were alive for this.
[...and is that Edie dancing in the background? You can totally see Warhol, backwards blonde wig and all.]
Today I got my backpack back from Angel, it has been in his room since the SOA protest in Georgia. Am in the midst of writing a short story/ article type deal on the subject. I'm happy to be reunited with two pairs of my best beat up leather boots and my iPod. Have been listening to a lot of Nouvelle Vague today. Why is it so cold again...
A certain local radio station is apparently raffling off tickets for the Grateful Dead reunion tour, would really like to see them play.
Thought: Was there anything cooler than Old New York?
Picture this...and red wine.
I keep thinking about how insane it was that prohibition actually happened. Like, pause with me for a moment on the subject. So, there was a point in time when it was illegal not to mention socially unacceptable to consume alcohol. Now if you live in New York City in an apartment close enough in proximity to a liquor store, you can get alcohol delivered to your door. Oh, how times have changed.
Hannah, now I know why you want to hear The Velvet Underground's record. I wish I were alive for this.
[...and is that Edie dancing in the background? You can totally see Warhol, backwards blonde wig and all.]
Today I got my backpack back from Angel, it has been in his room since the SOA protest in Georgia. Am in the midst of writing a short story/ article type deal on the subject. I'm happy to be reunited with two pairs of my best beat up leather boots and my iPod. Have been listening to a lot of Nouvelle Vague today. Why is it so cold again...
A certain local radio station is apparently raffling off tickets for the Grateful Dead reunion tour, would really like to see them play.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Thoughts
The other day was a good day because I was starving at school already on two cups of black coffee (one at like 10 a.m. when I woke up, the other around 5 p.m. thanks to Pura Vida at the pub) when I started going through my bag, looking for who knows what (probably my cellphone which has by now mastered the disappearing act or Burt's Bees, the one major essential), and happened to stumble upon a grape flavored Blow Pop. It was probably from some night spent at the Levee, maybe from Yeasayer. But anyway, the point is that I really forgot how appealing (and awesome) candy (specifically lollipops) can be. Definitely a taste of nostalgia. Do you remember those commercials with the animated owl, How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie roll pop? I'm sure I must have lost count of that somewhere along the line.
Starbucks has this new program (read: promotion- whatever, at least it is for good) where you fill out a card pledging five hours to help your community in some way. "Let's get to work. Together." Their words, not mine. When you hand in the card through January 25th (which is actually really soon) they give you a free drink. I'm going to do it, but not sure in what way the town of White Plains could most benefit from my help...hmm, will have to think on that note.
Pass the time.
I need to get a job, I am cold and I like this coat
Listen to this album again.
And this is how glamour should be.
Tomorrow is Friday which means that it is both the weekend and Berman's party. Good thing I'm not one for hangovers.
Starbucks has this new program (read: promotion- whatever, at least it is for good) where you fill out a card pledging five hours to help your community in some way. "Let's get to work. Together." Their words, not mine. When you hand in the card through January 25th (which is actually really soon) they give you a free drink. I'm going to do it, but not sure in what way the town of White Plains could most benefit from my help...hmm, will have to think on that note.
Pass the time.
I need to get a job, I am cold and I like this coat
Listen to this album again.
And this is how glamour should be.
Tomorrow is Friday which means that it is both the weekend and Berman's party. Good thing I'm not one for hangovers.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
not for sale any more
Love them
For some reason, this isn't allowing me to post videos, so there is the link. It has been too cold lately, I hear it is supposed to snow (...again) tomorrow. Have reverted back to my old insomniac self, unfortunately I left the melatonin back at the apartment with my phone charger but I guess that was inevitable considering I had to leave again after (what, three, four hours of sleep at most on) New Year's day. I have been reasonably productive lately, lots of writing and reading and seeing things and seeing people and sitting on my roof staring at the stars. Just the way I like it. That being said, I am ready to go back. Almost.
This week should be a drunken blur:
back to White Plainsss
Steve & Brian reunion of epic proportions
Oli's birthday/barhopping in city extravaganza
Angel's birthday
President Berman's (Manhattanville's former president, gotta love him) huge party in the new building. That guy from Gym Class Heroes or something is djing, but more importantly there will be an open bar!!! Thanks, Manhattanville, you are clearly a superior establishment.
Anyway, I have been reading some good things lately- Synchronicity by Jung (centers on the topic of meaningful coincidences), The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps by Bukowski (of course it was amazing, though I still maintain What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire is better), Where the Sidewalk Ends (oh nostalgia! my mom got me it for christmas this year), Allen Ginsberg Collected Journals (haven't finished yet but very interesting, lends incite into his methods of writing, some original drafts of poems such as America, descriptions of dreams he had), The Kite Runner (my sister hates reading but she actually liked it, so I figured why not. was quite good, really gave you an idea of what afghanistan is like), The Myth of Sisyphus (Camus is by far one of my favorite authors and this is the only one of his books I haven't reread), Anne Sexton Collected Poems (brilliance), The Critique of Judgment by Kant (the essay on the beautiful is excellent), there are some more too but I can't remember at the moment.
The new season of Damages just started the other night and oh it is as good as ever. Though I'm not really one for t.v. since we don't have it at the apartment, I figure I might as well enjoy it now. So that means lots of Planet Earth and Cops. I'm tired of typing. Adieu!
For some reason, this isn't allowing me to post videos, so there is the link. It has been too cold lately, I hear it is supposed to snow (...again) tomorrow. Have reverted back to my old insomniac self, unfortunately I left the melatonin back at the apartment with my phone charger but I guess that was inevitable considering I had to leave again after (what, three, four hours of sleep at most on) New Year's day. I have been reasonably productive lately, lots of writing and reading and seeing things and seeing people and sitting on my roof staring at the stars. Just the way I like it. That being said, I am ready to go back. Almost.
This week should be a drunken blur:
back to White Plainsss
Steve & Brian reunion of epic proportions
Oli's birthday/barhopping in city extravaganza
Angel's birthday
President Berman's (Manhattanville's former president, gotta love him) huge party in the new building. That guy from Gym Class Heroes or something is djing, but more importantly there will be an open bar!!! Thanks, Manhattanville, you are clearly a superior establishment.
Anyway, I have been reading some good things lately- Synchronicity by Jung (centers on the topic of meaningful coincidences), The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps by Bukowski (of course it was amazing, though I still maintain What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire is better), Where the Sidewalk Ends (oh nostalgia! my mom got me it for christmas this year), Allen Ginsberg Collected Journals (haven't finished yet but very interesting, lends incite into his methods of writing, some original drafts of poems such as America, descriptions of dreams he had), The Kite Runner (my sister hates reading but she actually liked it, so I figured why not. was quite good, really gave you an idea of what afghanistan is like), The Myth of Sisyphus (Camus is by far one of my favorite authors and this is the only one of his books I haven't reread), Anne Sexton Collected Poems (brilliance), The Critique of Judgment by Kant (the essay on the beautiful is excellent), there are some more too but I can't remember at the moment.
The new season of Damages just started the other night and oh it is as good as ever. Though I'm not really one for t.v. since we don't have it at the apartment, I figure I might as well enjoy it now. So that means lots of Planet Earth and Cops. I'm tired of typing. Adieu!
Monday, January 5, 2009
saw this quote the other day in the city, not sure where it's from but it's great
"I guess I could be really pissed off about what happened to me but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."
Friday, January 2, 2009
so this the new year.
2009. A whole new year...hard to believe. So many things have changed since the last time I waited around with friends in New York City, counting down in a two bedroom on Christopher St. the seconds until the ball dropped, the bottles of champagne, johnny walker, patron popped and savored until their was nothing left to countdown to, the hugs at midnight, the kisses, the cab rides, the barhopping, the drunken French, the gaps here and there and everywhere throughout the night and hell, the year that followed. But that being said, 2008 did me good in the end, treated me well, and for that god knows, I can't complain.
I keep telling myself that I am going to do some things differently this year. I am going to do some things, for one. Some things that I want to. I am going to get my type writer repaired to start. Some travels will also be in my future (Paris and Tangiers? I'm hoping).
Happy 2009 everyone, I hope you had a spectacular new year, I look forward to sipping some Moet and getting unruly with you very, very soon.
You should probably read this: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15514
this too: http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/newdartmoor.html
this too: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bowery-blues/
I keep telling myself that I am going to do some things differently this year. I am going to do some things, for one. Some things that I want to. I am going to get my type writer repaired to start. Some travels will also be in my future (Paris and Tangiers? I'm hoping).
Happy 2009 everyone, I hope you had a spectacular new year, I look forward to sipping some Moet and getting unruly with you very, very soon.
You should probably read this: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15514
this too: http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/newdartmoor.html
this too: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bowery-blues/
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