24 October 2010
22 October 2010
11 October 2010
10 October 2010
during the days of olive, we perhaps dropped the beloved nikon one too many times...by the end, the 50 mm was fuzzy (see above) and the 28 produced more scratches than matt mc donough's tabby white paw-ed kitten kat . . . on this day i was zipping home on my cosmic tricyle when i saw boy with dove, religious pieces on head and belt. we talked. his grammar was perfect, and he made confident eye contact, most of the time. he was caring for the pigeon. the other kids on the street did not talk or look at him so much as treat both him and bird as creatures from elsewhere.
08 October 2010
07 October 2010
as much as i know that 40 watt bulbs exist, this broad refuses to be lit. she taunts me with her hourglass figure, so i throw hourglass shapes at her face . . . occasionally she picks my shit up off the floor when it gets grimy. she's quiet, pretty respectful, changes the TP as needed, and has lots of - LOTS of - potential - lightwise, shinewise, etc. . . . so luminous, my roommate.
september's full moon came with a translation: "vollmond." the great dame felt her version, too. i remember one monday deciding to walk from 57th and broadway down, south, then east, towards home...to see if i could, i guess? to save $2.25? to wear my red shoes out? to think? i saw the moon move across the sky over the course of the 2 and a half hour walk . . . it attempted to fit into an array of scenarios: between buildings in union square, above a white truck towards delancey, poking the sky solo over the east river, and here, among bulbous luces over the pinkest bridge in the world ; it was less a guide than a mirror. i arrived home at 930. the moon was lost as i settled onto common ground. . .
among the potholes and scum, and some seemingly soapy substance (sorry) (ha!) that drips from above, from the tracks, onto my face, as i walk below on broadway. . . the side streets are or are not worth exploring - i am not sure. i have not carved a brownsian pattern anywhere into the rotten apple . . . these streets closest to me seem the most empty. one corner with extraordinary sun at 915 in the morning (the scene sets itself), one orange and black storage facility, one amazingly humble community garden inside metal and more metal . . . occasionally a grandmother attempts to sell religion as well as knick knacks, occasionally the boarding house for latino men puts out a car mat smeared with shit, occasionally i see a woman with her chubby baby come out in her pajamas . . . it is what it is; and i keep looking for my blue tiger.
06 October 2010
there were a few days this month where pb and j and bananas and top ramen it was . . . so it goes. at the time my eyes made these hamburgers life-sized. it's good to have a gnawing feeling in your stomach sometimes - a sense of urgency. i have a runt mentality.
these disposables (although they rarely are) were taken in february of 2009, a less cold winter than that which occurred towards the beginning of 2010 and i can't really speak for the end of 2010 i just know i'm combatting it this time with fur lined everything and iron will, ice picks and daggers. . . young jayant invited his pops into town and so we (jj and i) met him at his favorite bar close to the bowery or delancey or something and i always see it 3 seconds too late during the day and i get disoriented b/c the city at night is an entirely different beast than it is during the day now isn't it? young jayant was living in boston so 5 years later we still weren't technically in the same city. young comes and goes and i never really worry about it. . . i have no doubt that when he leaves the city again for whatever crevice of the earth and i either remain or seek other fortunes or solitude or purpose elsewhere that we will remain. . . for the time being he is in new york city, wearing suits, working for bloomberg, chasing something and building and breaking as well. occasionally he cooks his mothers recipes, perfects some guitar riffs. . . i have been beside myself a few times this fall - reunited with these two men/boys. . . i try to keep it on the low, but few things ever feel so easy . . . especially on the tail end of a difficult era (fingers crossed) these kinds of things are sweeter, more vivid ; i feel myself recording it, for my own sake. this past sunday we celebrated a non-eventful birthday with soggy chocolate cake and croatian influenced pizza. he is not just another suit on the F train, however he might be perceived. all i can see in front of me is a really good man.
04 October 2010
i read today that photography under the premise of 'humanism' was solely a mask, a band-aid, that tries to conceal the real relationship between 'truth' and 'beauty' in photographs, in photography . . . i.e., it is a beautiful endeavor, there is nothing universal about the 'humanism' of the image or the 'humans' in the image or of the photographer's 'humanitarian' endeavors if/while taking whatever photograph - what is universal is that in the end they are all objects, collectibles, a collectible memory / human as thing to collect, etc....the writer was writing from the 70s. i wish she was alive to write more on the subject.