27 February 2011
me and tudie in blanco e negro (21 nov 2010)
last frame of first strip: this is the face when tudie is about to lose it. this face comes with a warning of about 1/100th of a second. ya done. first frame of second strip: this is the stern face her mother makes; that scares the shit out of both of us. when the lines come out, real feelings are involved. you should probably go. third frame of second strip: tudie has always had such fine points, to all of her fine features. noses are important. maybe up there with thumbs; you know what i mean...last frame of second strip: the 'knowing look,' that we used in anticipation of comments from mothers to teachers to classmates to each other, when it's so real it's already known. when we precede and proceed to know.
23 February 2011
hasta el ombligo
of the blogs i browse through infrequently i hate one more than the others. to be fair, it houses adequate and "fitting" photos, some are technicolor dreams, some have the sun on LOCK, some have a look, some are abstract like...when things are darker at night, etc...i guess my insecurities flare because the blog espouses expression, love, sincerity, but is utterly unaware. the blogger/photographer seems to be less an introspective, well-read, well-traveled flaneur, than an active participant and champion of art's modern day aristocracy, propagating "the same" with a mantra of "i'm different." a "carefree" aesthetic with no guilt about what being carefree means TODAY, right now, where it is almost an insult to be carefree - - - "style" is "the message" - right. but the shit is so light and fluffy, marshmallow sweet, airy, like i don't feel it in my system, like, i never dwell there, and so i take her about as seriously as that.but, she is in the majority. luxury is a cab ride to JFK, she's a lap-dog, in first-class, reincarnated. i think it's always been like that. i'm being harsh. i have logorrhea. my reaction is: reactionary. perhaps i'll take less offense, in my lap-dog years...my collar burns bright from its own blue flame, and that is MY (tasty, golden, tortilla, etc.) chip, on my very own sun-damaged shoulder.
here are 10 perfect little fingers approaching a deep olive ombligo...of gold lamé necklaces from 30,000 feet above the bermuda triangle, i know nothing. of gold lamé necklaces from 3 feet above the bermuda triangle, i know this. these are the sights i see, and i call these sights with these words, as such, from this plane, that i pilot.
21 February 2011
hermosa sin maquillaje
my stepfather always used to speak about women in terms of natural beauty. his big thing was, you meet a chick, it takes her 45 minutes to get ready, what the fuck? or, you're at dinner, and she checks her make-up in the bathroom for a 1/2 an hour, so, what the fuck? or, you kiss her, and make-up comes off on your beard, what the fuck? was basically the argument. his idea of an ideal woman (or so i gathered in the early 90s) was one you could toss into the ocean, say, and would emerge the same, if not more beautiful, than before.in my head, i apologized about all that to the beard a million or so times. i was akimbo, face full of sea stubble, foaming at the mouth. i had emerged from the waves ready for more! shameless in my wants. using all sorts of things to cover up my scales or the readiness on my breath. like drink, for nerves, or cigarettes, b/c i was waiting for you to come, and how they mask one they masked me, and words that weren't really my own they just came out came out came out came out, noises like we were under water and my sound was muffled, my sound was, mine, and suddenly there i was out on the corner, on two new feet, feigning like i knew...you were thrown out to drown too, once. you had scales too, once. you believed in two once, too. i know it like i know mine is water, and yours is air. i know it like one knows how long one can hold their breath, or like how one knows one shouldn't.
laberintos
Murki at the top of the stairs, this labyrinth of Saturday nights and strangers in purple sweaters, sweaty stages, strange situations, west to the east river, a bit of this, a bit of that, a bit of film, a bit of him, we act young, we are young, we shoot this, i show you, tal y, tal, y tal y, tal y, tal, ytaly, so where are you frommmmmmmmmmmm?
20 February 2011
si fuera rubia
...mi principe desde lejos, lejos pero lejos, lejos como pluto, lejos como nunca, lejos como lo inventé...lejos así.
una canción para el principe, sincerely, for the man who moves, de todas las monas who've loved him, in ways a brunette just cannot.
si si si van van.
19 February 2011
16 February 2011
sugar honey iced tea / they say she a pisces / i heard they are feisty
the peruvian guy at the cleaners i've started frequenting across the street is a bumbling, sweet type, the type who wakes up on the right side of the bed, most of the time. last time i went in there he stood up quickly and hit his head on a metal pole above him, and then laughed about it. he always thinks my name is rachel, and then quickly remembers that my pop is from colombia and then he snaps and goes oh! my cousin married a colombian...he has a bed and breakfast in...in...in...in...in...BUCARAMANGA! and i go, oh! i've never been; sounds lovely though...and he goes, it IS! my cousin says there are no ugly women in colombia, and i go, i believe him...and he goes, he doesn't make a lot of money, but he is happy. that's the moral of the story, all the time. he calls me sardinita - little fish.
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