29 May 2011
28 May 2011
i just spent 45ish minutes trying to write about this particular tree that i sat with a few saturdays ago, but nothing. there is no story to be made of it. this theme (roots, blossoms, fruit, branches that caress cheeks with bright green leaves, etc.) is deaded. when i sat with it last it was sunset (i swear), and that cast of beautiful orange-red was on us, but it was not a postcard situation; nothing i know has to do with vacation. we sat in silence mostly because we have lost the thread, yes...my options were two and i wanted neither. i upped, cold and delirious. the tree stayed, with its fixed p.o.v., holding a sign that read "sos" in loud, colorful print. in my dreams, however, i see it mobile and wild before me, accelerating aggressively south towards the bridge, on ancient legs that only pedal forward, moving with a seed's lucky speed, the virgin's blessing tucked hastily into back pockets, saying au revoir, au revoir, au revoir! ! !
it feels like a eucalyptus grove inside my chest.
it feels like a eucalyptus grove inside my chest.
26 May 2011
25 May 2011
Left Eye Lopez is kinda cute, as I had always SUSPECTED. No no no, me whole, me whole. I learned of these two sides a long time ago. Not much you can do there. I know that when I'm 80-100 years old these sides will be magnified, as much is when you're older (and the opposite); it's gonna be a shit show. They draw the fish sign as two fishes swimming in opposite directions b/c that is what much of life feels like, pulls upward and downward, polar opposites, yes/no, black/white, ecstatic/devastated, social butterfly/callejera, respectful/anti, etc. They say the two fishes are earnest and magical, fiercely loyal and trustworthy, good listeners, thoughtful. There are two I guess because when one gets tired of over-extending the other fish lifts a big middle finger and goes in the opposite direction; a flash in the pan, mercurial, silver, gone. I know a few people with perfectly symmetrical faces. It means the lens likes them; possessing less disturbing dimensions, etc. I could never cut cookies, no this couldn't...
24 May 2011
in a note dated 7/28/10 there is mention of meeting a young rastafarian working at a starbucks on 43rd street. upon getting my name he said oh! that he was doing a lot of reading lately on africa and had come upon some interesting facts about the sahara desert, namely that it wasn't always a desert; it was a garden first. this was a beautiful line because it had nothing to do with my hair, or shoes, or earrings, or manner, and it wasn't coy or light. it was a beautiful line because it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me.
the r. serra show at the met took up about 4 townhouses and a few Los Angeles houses worth of real estate. maybe there was more than one canvas per wall, two next to each other, say, but in general, the shapes were circles and squares against tall, white walls. the hue: black. the feeling: heavy. the movement: fuck if i know. the point: boil it all down. i'm on top of this. nothing really matters. i found the answer. black is the new black. etc. etc...(open to interpretation). i needed assistance with this one so i asked the guard. his name was the male version of my favorite female name, appolonia (or maybe it was just her face i loved?). he was from honduras; looked cuban. apolonio martinez told me he'd sat in front of serra long enough to gather that what was happening was that the white, from behind, from elsewhere, was always trying to get through, and that serra's response was YOU! (government, forces that be, etc.) are always trying to cover up my art BUT I PUSH THROUGH. 'namean? above serra is my marble shark. my room has turned into a prop closet as of late...of fake flowers, fabrics, a tiger, mirrors, marbles, construction paper...it's good! i think it's good. it's like when i was at the nueva school in hillsborough chasing deer and getting lost with dagan, writing stories about diving boards in cali, pursuing my actual interests, and not worrying about long division. that's the spot i am rekindling. i have comical moments with myself. in the room. sort of a serious-clown show; hasn't it always been that way? these moments are 'hilarious' if you're with friends and 'funny' if you're telling a story, but comical if you are alone, solo dove styles...like the one time i stayed in a 2 bedroom shack-hostel in ladrilleros, colombia, by myself, wrapped in a sheet, on the bottom floor, on a bed by the window, in 103 humidity, listening to a bat fly from corner to corner over me every few minutes. i tried to scare it. there was no electricity. comedy. you really didn't have to be there.
23 May 2011
22 May 2011
21 May 2011
it was cold that christmas. look at tiny pop on the beach; he is larger in my day to day thoughts, i think. two years sometimes feel like 5, or 10, or continents, or childhood versus adulthood, it's hard to span it, from this particular dock, all the time. it is. i accept it like i accept facts. facts are as cold and jagged as rocks, or brick walls, or as dense or untouchable as black holes. cruel. we try to extend our hearts as bridges and as infinite as we claim these things to be, sometimes we come up short. i come up short. the heart is a stone, and this is a stone that we throw; chloe's best friend said that. unfortunately this stone stays here, with me. it may not have wings, as i once thought.
happy birthday super gemini. i'm glad you're biking these days. another visual for me on which to fixate. i'll try to water this image, as i have all of the others.