ON LOOTING AND PRESERVING

famous black men my mother wouldn't recognize

2012-01-30T22:50:00.001-05:00

neoterism

2012-01-30T22:26:00.016-05:00

circa 2007, 2007, 2008, 2010, 2011

ego with smooth part, ego frazzled and presumptuous, ego messy and with owl, with tear, with mirror.
ego tries, ego strains, ego is proud, ego is easily shattered. nuance and assertion, arrogance and insecurity - two sides of the same beautiful sword. this weekend ego was with cancer, the crab, that is. a crab with a good heart, a terrible smoking habit, a fear of the goodnight, a lover of the dawn, called forth and to move by a certain drum beat; one that i hear, too. we say we see patterns though i despise repetition. we say i have tendencies and we call them my default. we say i like certain things and i always say innocently that i like what i like. we say to move forward without looking back, though every month my body does the same thing, and the moon even more so, and the sun too, though he strains and often over compensates, and we lay down to get up again, we spin on spinning, like the rims on those massive, mean trucks that roar down this desolate stretch of bushwick avenue that i call mine. i plug my ears with two pointer fingers, just like that, with bozo curly hair exploding out from under a winter hat i refuse to wear correctly. but this winter it's different; i'm secretly pleased, selfishly so, yes at global warming...! yes at this heat. yes, because it's been a while since i walked home against traffic with the sun in my eyes and in some convoluted kind of pain that masochists secretly seek, because if it's bad, then that means it can be really, really good. and ego hopes you hear this; even if ego knows it was nothing. we dipped our feet in some sort of ocean, is all, and the crab on some one-of-a kind fine. i leave it there, because wild hearts can't be broken, and because i know i don't look like some fucking idiot.

all of the 28th's, of every month (happy birthday twin)

2012-01-28T13:00:00.004-05:00

happy birthday tater, sister twin soul, through the thin and very fucking thick. tater and i have a time machine; every time i sit in her car we trigger it - i do my thing, and she does hers, we can travel anywhere. here we are at ocean beach, the western most part of san francisco, the most blustery, the greyest, the coldest. there was a black man stretching towards the breakers, and a black umbrella smashed and resting on top of the sand. there are always ecstatic dogs half wet and half dry slobbering on their green-yellow tennis balls running back and forth like happy idiots, and san franciscans, couples, or runners, old folk like in coney island, milling about, keeping to themselves...the rest of the day was filled with happy details that would mean even less to you than the above, and mean more to me if i could keep in the treasure chest inside.

with the girls

2012-01-25T21:36:00.005-05:00

even at this age, and from behind the lens, two things that make me practically invisible to them, you can feel the intricacies of the interpersonal landscape that belongs to these girls. at this age, it's like, like, like, like, kind of invisible, hard to see, though the landscape is overwhelming, kind of like, heated, like, overheated, yes, an overheated greenhouse in the middle of an east coast summer, or something, like...a kind of invisibility weaves these girls together, though traces of everything, of the move, of thoughts or private opinions, judgement or envy, adoration, etc., can be seen by simply letting your gaze lag, then just fall behind in conversation, just look at the faces during the pauses, or follow the darting of eyes from target to audience and back to target again, or watch how definite the change in expression is, when you have turned, and gone.

game over

2012-01-25T21:10:00.001-05:00

toronto, 1986

2012-01-25T20:33:00.000-05:00

at the mitzvah

2012-01-24T21:50:00.004-05:00

and then my flash broke. if you heard screaming in the hallway that was me.

varioso

2012-01-22T22:38:00.001-05:00

line, no line + flowers

2012-01-22T22:37:00.000-05:00

famous face with the trees

2012-01-22T22:35:00.000-05:00

famous face at the window

2012-01-22T22:34:00.000-05:00

invierno

2012-01-22T22:33:00.000-05:00

varioso

2012-01-22T22:04:00.002-05:00

'the handsome man' by heather christle

2012-01-16T17:50:00.002-05:00

THE HANDSOME MAN

Walking through the forest I found you
strapped to a tree and half-fainting.
My god you were beautiful,
your sword sticking out like a sword.
Attempting to revive you, I strutted
around the tree seven times, in my
matchless squirrel coat. You seemed
distracted, though, by the lepers’
parade as they lumbered by, singing
Oh woe is me, my feet are cold,
I cannot find my barrel
I took off my coat and disguised
myself as a rooster with a cruel eye
and taxable plumage. There you are, Manfred!
you said, as your bonds turned to vapor.
You tucked me under your arm
and set out to slay something, while I struggled
to take off your pants with my beak.

© sarah girner + parents (regarding the queen)

2012-01-15T11:12:00.002-05:00

the magnificent ©sarah girner, of her brilliant parents, in venecia. pulling the rug out from under struth as we speak.

happy mission couple and other walls

2012-01-13T23:52:00.002-05:00

succulents, garage, twin peaks (what a city)

2012-01-13T23:50:00.003-05:00

out of focus iris sf, out of touch poster ny

2012-01-13T23:40:00.000-05:00

the list too long

2012-01-13T23:36:00.001-05:00

m'tater swingin' on valencia street, and talking to my bff glen on ocean beach in front of light wand. i made some terrible decisions that day but they were minor. the rest was a day for the history books.

big brother

2012-01-13T23:23:00.005-05:00

sarah had a baby boy yesterday morning at 630 a.m., PST. i was eating some FAGE 0% guanabana yogurt at that time, across the country, just easssssin' on into the day, dreaming of my missed connection, the m-train man. here is that new, 23-inch-long bundle of everything's older brother in his sweet-sized socks, lazing on christmas day in his new la-z-boy. it was reported that said younger brother was lodged inside of sarah, not budging for 6 straight laborious hours, with his fists in front of his face. she has lost her voice in the process. first motherly sacrifice; straight out the gate...

our orange tree modesto, current block brooklyn

2012-01-06T00:27:00.004-05:00

children things

2012-01-06T00:18:00.005-05:00

tater, tater

2012-01-06T00:10:00.003-05:00

president bush, captain aloe, bravo wall

2012-01-06T00:07:00.003-05:00

fake wave, real hill

2012-01-06T00:00:00.001-05:00

fireworks, various

2012-01-05T23:56:00.002-05:00

dr. octagon

2012-01-05T23:50:00.003-05:00

a system, a star, a planet

2012-01-05T00:04:00.002-05:00

offerings to the gods of you-know-what

2012-01-04T23:23:00.041-05:00

i make bargains and pleas in my head, not too desperate or too much, i don't barter too hard, though i barter, with time, the end, with money i don't have or never had, i'd trade for you if i loved you or i might trade you, split you down the middle soft belly open, miti-miti like, i might offer your services, offer you services, steal your image or stand for your camera, depending...there is always something, though, i have wanted from you, fíjate en eso. there are no altruists, no one is all true, only heart tourists, f-1 baby, d-day baby, t-rex daddy!!!! and it is 17 degrees fucking farenheit outside but inside it's hot and i'm getting bloody noses almost every week in this dry sahara heat. inside i'm sprawled, like a defunct palma, maybe it's 80 degrees or who knows. i sit on the toilet with the seat down and stare up at the naked yellow lightbulb, at 4, 7, 8 in the morning, 11 at night, i stuff a tissue in my face and i feel that thick shit dripping down my throat, thicker than blood as a female knows, and i pray on my future, i prey and i poach, i plot, i blow snot, i eat blood and swallow clots. nasty like you thought i was (a venezuelan has exposed you as the pruder) and if you saw me as that baby, that momma's girl then see me too as spoiled, a typhoon, a tantrum, insufferable, incorrigible, obstinada, tenaz they say, "uuuuuuuuf, tennnnnnnnnaz!" stubborn-as-fuck but it's all ok because we see what we want to, and we run from what scares us, and we leave what we love, and we let others put in work. i would give me up, too, coward, if i was you, coward. and in the end, while we're flexing our calves in the mirror and kissing our biceps i'm flashing, i'm flashing, i'm flashing like redheads in pure white winter snow and i've appropriated, manipulated, earned, bought, bred, made, or willed it all into my hands. i got it. i got it bad for me and only me - this might be monogamy. i have no good examples, though, so i defer instead to the gods of you-know-what. mi casa es mi casa, and yours is mine, too.

2 beds in sf, 3 stems in sf

2012-01-04T23:19:00.003-05:00

on christmas, channukah, mom's parking job

2012-01-04T23:15:00.002-05:00

caged birds, wilderness truck in the wilderness, ivy

2012-01-04T23:12:00.000-05:00

virile tree in twin peaks, san pancho

2012-01-04T23:11:00.000-05:00

vase on mission, these guys on new years, bag falling on broadway, park slope NYE cat

2012-01-04T23:08:00.001-05:00

the hand that stopped me, this boy i know, a plant i touched

2012-01-04T23:03:00.003-05:00

valle central, califas I-5

2012-01-04T23:01:00.001-05:00

hazy SF, light wand Ocean Beach

2012-01-04T22:58:00.001-05:00

a flower arrangement of which i am fond, bernal heights SF

2012-01-04T22:57:00.002-05:00

by day/night on/in the beach/the city

2012-01-04T21:52:00.003-05:00

white lily, white door (christmas, SF)

2012-01-04T00:46:00.002-05:00

plane going west, two of me, sf from the sky

2012-01-04T00:36:00.003-05:00

the season

2012-01-02T23:44:00.000-05:00

broadway nena with madonna ciccone and lourdes eyes

2012-01-02T23:42:00.000-05:00

11/4/46 - 3/9/89

2011-12-30T23:01:00.014-05:00

this boy is my spirit animal for the coming year. talismans, the virgin mary, michaelangelo, beautiful hands, pulsing veins, unhinged everything, a calling, the calling, purity (not 'good' or 'evil'), the unruly, hansel/gretel, ambition, possession, selfishness, taking, poets, the object, beauty. i trust that two people can create a language and a story as grand or majestic as any before or after them, or one never seen again. and if we have missed each other in the night, i trust that, too.

love story (theirs)

2011-12-30T18:32:00.003-05:00

another new york, a kind of magic, and paths that cross will cross again

superstitious shit, 2011

2011-12-24T15:42:00.021-05:00

i have the privilege of rarely looking over my shoulder though i do still stuff money in my bra should it be late at night. i am tethered to nothing except the pull of family and friends and rent and some sort of competition with myself where respect, acceptance, and faith are concerned. i have ambitions that are clearly attached to place, i have my images though there are still many to be created and these show me either in the jungle or on some rue where atget set his huge camera down and showed me what P.O.V. was, confused though i was for years and years...i know of course that that was then and this is now - and that is, i suppose, why i shoot sling shots, cat eyes, chains, daguerre himself, some kid on my street, "trash," debris, the remains, or myself. this is now, yes. that was then, yes. harder than you'd expect to detach yourself from. i also picture quiet white, other whites, but in a pallet more rosy than blue. i expect these things will happen when they are supposed to - the tricky thing is to trust that this is yours, and that your legs will take you where you need to be. if body has a memory, i wonder what mine remembers of me. some claim there is no time line i must adhere to, that i have nowhere to be but here, that i am not relegated to hitting marks like some life-as-target-practice, though i think they say this to comfort those who want as i want. what is want, actually? what is want actually seeking? in a world of monkeys i still want to do as i see others do, but this is preposterous because don't we all cry quietly into our pillows at night that we are in fact utterly unique and "worthy" - an individual? i believe there are other docks in which to rest after reaching, that i'm to face many more storms and meet a million more clingy little barnacles, perhaps a handful of dirty-blond bearded and red-hatted sea captains, a couple of violent, wild king crabs, or some long-haired, unhinged maniacs to whom i give too much or nothing at all...but in the future, in the future, yes, in the future. let us call the future now. all that this crystal ball says is 'village psychic,' you see - the discussion is more interesting than the thing - and the cards fall where they may, as always. this year the tectonic plates that move me or do the opposite - remain - but the irrelevant forces or apparitions that i both thought about too much and also couldn't help thinking about, have ebbed (when it's low tide, the ocean shows what its waves have been hiding). we have modern medicine to thank for this current tide as well as a tincture of bugle weed, tulsi, and lemon-balm, courtesy the herbalist on cortelyou in brooklyn. she is mad at me, but i'm fine with being at odds these days. we born feminine pleasers need not keep this up for another decade...so it's not that i'm poor and therefore superstitious, it's that faith is hard to keep when all you care about is proof. proof of reason, proof i was here, proof we mattered. gah, forget it, see...i have pollock smatterings of pride and triumph, mania as per the usual does still exist, but i embrace them because i know they are not forever. i embrace them as i do the melancholy, these long, rough brush strokes that have painted me as such. as you see here. as proof of. that one's melancholy could have a look, a shape, a personality, a sound, makes it harder to break - but we live with this and many other things, until we depart from here for good; all our belongings, beginnings, and endings already inside of us. everything is everything always and again, on and on, erykah badu, etc. etc. etc., let us just continue forward in that manner so well executed by our faithful legs! tripping is part of the ropes course, and i can see myself resenting not having had a dress rehearsal. so nothing to "do" then, timbaleros, nothing to try and control, prepare for, or mourn over - you're off the hook, forever. feliz año nuevo and all of that bullshit; the crystal ball has nothing you don't.

eternal lamping

2011-12-22T17:27:00.000-05:00

enthusiastic bride at grand central, hermosa

2011-12-21T20:40:00.000-05:00

calyer couple, gabe picking his nose out of frame, pontiac xmas

2011-12-21T20:39:00.001-05:00

hot guy at party + educated taco (for chloe)

2011-12-21T20:34:00.004-05:00

i mean, i'm not sure who's color blind or doesn't care what kind of shoes the object of their (passing) affection wears. no one is judging here, i'm sure someone thought our couch sitting looked judgmental, which it wasn't. you heard what cher said in clueless. that said - EDUCATED TACO PARTY.

hurrah!

2011-12-20T10:04:00.003-05:00

©Peder Severin Krøyer, 1880s-ish, pastoral, after the frenchies, etc. idyllic, no? so it will be as much as we can make it.

more objects for doty

2011-12-19T20:23:00.003-05:00

as aleez said, this year blew. whew! more s'mores in the future, fatty marshmallow dinner sits, horse riding, hair combing, loaf, and love. laughs a given. more creativity, more intuition, more faith, more luck, more hard work, more writing...the penis mightier than the sword, as he says.

avant clouds

2011-12-15T22:48:00.002-05:00

Mr. Al Ritmo, blonde betches, former heart

2011-12-15T22:43:00.004-05:00

Mr. Al Ritmo? That's funny, come on...

varioso

2011-12-15T22:27:00.004-05:00

lilac

2011-12-13T15:56:00.000-05:00

dotyman test photo 1

2011-12-13T15:54:00.000-05:00

winner time

2011-12-13T11:08:00.002-05:00

winter music

para benito...

2011-12-09T16:34:00.006-05:00

...who only dates trannies i mean blondes. someday we will go to CLO together. although i was recently told i don't have any control over anyone, anything, or any epoca. i still maintain this is only partially true, like 70/30 universe/me. whatever, songs are time travel, at least...
en barranquilla me quedo.

annual matted mata foto - 2011 (plus lady lines, and a horse, of course)

2011-12-09T16:19:00.003-05:00

our good friend jenya

2011-12-09T11:25:00.007-05:00

c. jenya arbugaeva

as a friend i should know how to pronounce jenya's last name but i do not, never tried in 2 1/2 years, so with that, feel free to call me syrah bajor. jenya's photos, when i first saw them in class, rendered me immediately silent and made my stomach go hot. i have no words that couldn't be confused with envy when describing her work, and rightly so. gracious, elegant, and polished, she gets down in her familiar siberian tundra, one under which i'd most likely crack. she dons what she dons and carries what she carries, slight and strong, tearing new holes into the photographic cosmos. her sensibility, i think, and her beauty and strength, i think, is what renders me silent. her portraits are kind, and there is no irony. now and again (always) this is nice to feel. she is all over the internet these days. she deserves it. her shit is otherworldly, and i say that from the pov of a rather provincial western existence. otherworldly is actually quite close, as she has shown. website: jenya

bea de giacomo, italiana b. 1982

2011-12-09T11:23:00.002-05:00

further proof of the contemporary, and that unicorns exist, if not only just almost out of frame, in some unnamed landscape, or named after exactly whatever it is that fits your fancy. 2012: more sword fights, fog, and flash.

ceiling costs

2011-12-06T16:01:00.004-05:00

closet perfectionist (c. emma wilcox)

2011-12-04T14:02:00.004-05:00

ms. wilcox, who lives by the river.

milagros

2011-12-03T16:25:00.003-05:00

thunderbölts

happy birthday tiniest one (greatest hits)

2011-12-02T14:48:00.006-05:00

me and cupes warming the booth, 2010/11

c. Christopher William

2011-12-02T09:30:00.002-05:00

christopher william at zwirner some time ago. feels a little roe up in here, though this man is a bit older. modernity, commentary, detachment, meta, perfectionism, the object, the wool, the gloss, the glaze...intellectual photographs, some gorgeous, some, if the caption were gone, would feel quite homeless. but, as far as apples go...

love on the west bank - c. Ed van der Elsken

2011-12-01T16:01:00.001-05:00

c. Ed van der Elsken

Page of Wands, Page of Wants

2011-11-23T23:25:00.016-05:00

cat i scared

2011-11-22T22:59:00.000-05:00

infinite gorgeousities - - - - > malick sidibe

2011-11-21T17:00:00.002-05:00

© malick sidibe, gorgeousity upon gorgeousity, in spirit and faces and in triumph and despite of...mr. sidibe's work has seen a recent (past year or two?) surge in public interest; i didn't see any of his photos until 2009, and now he is in the cannon. we have an acquaintance who can buy what she pleases, and she has a print of his, among others. that's cool. here is one that rattles my heart. and more still i want to make things that rattles others.

photo crush ---> http://www.liadarjes.com

2011-11-17T11:27:00.004-05:00

broadway, 37 (snow shift)

2011-11-14T00:00:00.005-05:00

i linger on this corner here in the hopes of seeing those 1 to 2 men i've met who tend to these little corner gardens along broadway, that somehow survive underneath the roaring j, m, and z trains. if you walk down broadway long enough and you decide to make a phone call, you will have to pause every 5-7 minutes for the train to pass overhead, because no one is catching up about SHIT under the j, m, and z trains. i do this every week and every week i get mad at the train that has just kindly delivered me to my temporary place of residence. i see now that i get 'mad' because i am in a rush, everywhere, always...there are accounted for minutes in my life, most of the goddamn time. when my doctor told me this, that i have a 'rushed demeanor' about me, i said, well isn't that just new york? and it is not, as a matter of fact...that i linger turns out to the be the right move, and the noise overhead and around me on this and other stretches of space, is just that. all sorts of noise, enraging or otherwise.

broadway, 36 (adios mamita)

2011-11-13T23:36:00.007-05:00

in truth i've had less nicknames than i would have thought; mamita being everyone's nickname, actually. i realize that i should probably call things and people by their real names, and i certainly do, but my tendency has something to do with Pop and in general how Colombians might enjoy saying "fe-ca" instead of "café." it doesn't matter. i got in trouble once at a temporary place of employment, in sf, early 2007, for nicknaming a supervisor. what i thought was to be a gilded job!@!@ full of "tasks" and "duties" (she took me out to a fancy greek restaurant to woo me - worked) was in fact, not gilded, greek, or dutiful. there were tasks, though. it was at this job i found out that no one in my immediate circle had an annoying voice; to the point of noticing it, i mean. i learned here that there are many professional lines to be drawn at places of employment between girls who all wear black slacks and answer the same phones and their superiors by 2 years, who do the same. it turns out i am a sucker for females around my age with latino last names; but my saudade for that sort of thing has had a few ugly reality checks, so now i don't judge people by apellido...shortly after i made a transition to another temporary job on market street, and had the famous encounter with dina christopher, that monster who once picked snickers bar chocolate (and caramel) out of her teeth with an acrylic pointer fingernail and then touched my computer screen with that same acrylic nail to make a point, as if the screen were anything but a 4th wall of technology, not to be touched at all, ever. when that "job" ended (i was let go because of my attitude, superior i think it was) tater and i set up the dina christopher foundation in dina christopher's name, with a balance of 400 bucks. i think it was the last time tater ever needed to borrow money from me. we called it the dina christopher foundation because that was her fucking name. so i guess i take it back, mamita is not for everyone; careful with that.

fancy jack

2011-11-13T23:07:00.000-05:00

lo-fi curly dog

2011-11-13T12:37:00.000-05:00

mi vida y la vida tuya

2011-11-13T12:35:00.001-05:00

femme fleurs - araki (if you are in paris)

2011-11-10T15:46:00.001-05:00

gettin' it in

2011-11-08T21:19:00.001-05:00

this happened on sunday. these kids are like all of my dance teachers plus ruPaul in one. felt right at home, beastin' it out on sunday, etc.

jesu cristobal, beacon ny

2011-11-07T21:27:00.000-05:00

susanna en el fondo

2011-11-07T20:47:00.001-05:00

tú, tutu, tutto bene

2011-11-05T00:10:00.010-04:00

broadway, 37 (Ájaros)

2011-11-05T00:10:00.004-04:00

broadway, 36 (all brown eheything)

2011-11-05T00:07:00.000-04:00

pants interlude (@mtv)

2011-11-03T21:39:00.009-04:00

my memories of "acting" include my 4th or 5th grade stint as a "madre" aka i was typecast as a MARM b/c of my trunk shape and hue of hair, the 'jota' in my last name, etc. i wore a long black skirt and have not since. NOT OK LAKEWOOD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. my point being that for as long as i can remember acting/performing/showing my self has been the last thing i wanted to do - next to chewing broken glass. one year i played the butt of a horse with my good friend erin in the school's production of 'punch+judy' - someone has that VHS in modesto, califas, and when it hurts i know someone is going to post it on the fucking internetz. the time i had to be FDR for a school report was no good either, ditto the time i had to be isadora duncan in the 1st person. whatever, different strokes. acting is like any art - high/low, it can be the most riveting and poignant or the exact opposite...

anyhow, a couple of months ago (weeks?!) i met matty in greenpoint, in a maze of a loft, where mtv was shooting on the set of "I Just Want My Pants Back". i came at sunset and got lost on various floors of the massive set. matty left me to my own devices and i hid in various corners with a 28mm while the director + actors + designers + stylists + lighting dudes + producer + writer worked out the intricacies of the scene. in this scene, the blonde arrives to where two other characters are 'chilling' on a couch. she has just had a rigorous if not unsuccessful day of apartment hunting. mcKibbin has some vacancies, no? but to have yelled that on set would have broken the 5th wall of TV production, so i held my tongue and got good grain instead. thanks to matty @MTV for the chance to triple confirm how bad of an actor i would make after witnessing this shoot.

above: writers amending the script outside, cast members between scenes, set still life, baberham reapplying maquillaje, headshots, outfit check/stylist, big primpin', cast on couch/photographer backed into a corner with a 28mm, off-set, cellie checks

how to get your pants back: i just want my pants back, website offish

cunningham by rauschenberg, 50s

2011-11-03T12:45:00.001-04:00

breezo, 2.0

2011-11-03T10:19:00.005-04:00

last night breezo and i chatted via skypeola (see photo) while i spilled tortellini down the drain, fearing i would get another note from my roommate telling me to not do exactly that. anyway, london is in his future, and though it may be hard to see whilst IN IT, he's covered a lot of ground [in timberlands or via bike tire, also photographically]. see new breeze here: phil breezy. i'm partial to the canada shit (ryan gosling and i were both born in ontario thank you you're welcome) such as the motorcycle and the wide open roads and this contemporary thing (a type of distance/a type of photographically aware gaze) is happening that i'm not sure breeze is aware of but he is in fact a contemporary (and also contra: a cynic/a classicist) so if you HAD to place him, a modern tag makes sense. his "vacancy" sign works for me in a way many photos-i-must-read do not, and in an overt/covert kind of way. blows me away! and harkens back to ye old 1930s photographers - you know i'm right. i suppose that it 'blows me away' wouldn't make it subtle, by any means, but i call it so, maybe 'cause the i know the dude himself, and because there is so much intellectualizing and pomp in photography today that work like his seems grounded, decent, and humble. a man could use the phrase "faffing around" however often he wished if his shit was solid like, like this.

young cheney photos

2011-11-01T11:34:00.002-04:00

well done young cheney, 22 y con apetito.

WEPA! chin chin: Shaq Panda, LLC

2011-10-30T23:28:00.003-04:00

in real life this is a tumblr that exists: Shaq Panda, LLC. if you're not a diva we'll come to your wedding, and shoot it, well, otherwise we have lots of friends to whom we'd love to refer you.

broadway, 35 (ask about cyan)

2011-10-29T22:54:00.000-04:00

broadway, 34 (post-gougerie)

2011-10-29T22:52:00.000-04:00

broadway, 33 (jigsaw)

2011-10-29T22:08:00.002-04:00

last suns, van buren street, bushwick

2011-10-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

disco, sprawling

2011-10-29T21:18:00.002-04:00

occupy wall street dancer, fake ms. palin, and red head boy

2011-10-29T21:13:00.003-04:00

i recognized this kid from vimeo/youtube/twitter/tumblr before i actually saw him in real life down in zucotti park.

movies used to be good

2011-10-29T21:04:00.001-04:00

de bodas y beacon, with the bird

2011-10-28T21:56:00.000-04:00

broadway, 31 (shay)

2011-10-28T21:47:00.002-04:00

of the other photo i took of him he said, "cool, i might make this my profile picture on facebook." that's the goal, shay, true enough. he followed up with "how old are you?" to which he said "whaaat?! you look 17." THANK YOU SHAY NOW RUN QUICKLY ON HOME. made my day though, NGL...

broadway, 30 (camo-pipe)

2011-10-28T21:46:00.002-04:00

broadway, 29 (flores immaculadas)

2011-10-28T21:45:00.002-04:00

on this block i shot and ran. you familiar?