Burning Man and Naked Pictures

I'm glad the last pseudo-helpful rant touched you.
Thanks for the comments. It makes me want to write more.
I promise.

And you should never feel creepy about stalking me, It's my favorite pastime. I'm honored to be stalk worthy.

So, I'm leaving to go to burning man for a week. Running around buying caffiene jelly beans and LED lights and disposable cameras. Trying to fit everything into one suitcase. I thought I'd leave you with a few fun things to look at while I'm gone:






Me in a wig and fancy hat.

My ad in Curve Magazine. September 2008. Rigged OUT/fitters. Yay queer scene.

Surrealism, through and through.

Love you, darling. Please don't forget me.

On Loving Yourself:

Let us begin by saying this- I didn't always.

In second grade, I was the girl who ran home and sat in front of the mirror-determined, hairbrush in hand, to make my hair straight and shiny like the other girls. No such miracle occured. I hated my curls.

But things happened. Time passed. In fourth grade I wore limited too leggings and read too many books and kids called me wierd. I decided right then that wierd was better than normal and took it as a compliment. They'd say angry things to me and I'd smile and say thanks. Sometimes I cried about it when nobody was looking.

Fast forward to middle school. I wore t-shirts that said "you laugh because I'm different, I laugh because you're all the same" and pants with inseams as large as I could find. Freaking people out was a daily drug. I fit in absolutely nowhere and had few real friends. In times of pain, I cut myself and wrote cliche poems about comitting suicide. Lets not even talk about kittie, coal chamber, papa roach, or Korn. please.

By early high school I had an eating disorder. Let me say one thing: if you love yourself, you do not have an eating disorder. I got my self-worth from how many people thought I was attractive, how many people I kissed that day, and how many girls I was skinnier than. Then a boy broke my heart for a girl who was fatter. I started reading beautiful poems and having goals and began to think, maybe, that hating yourself wasn't the way to go.

I had an acid trip where two girls ditched me to make out and I talked to my face as it melted in the mirror. My arms hugged my heart and breast and my lips said: you are all you need.

My mother took me to watch What The Bleep Do We Know and I saw the girl write love all over her body. I saw the crystals of water turn into heaven when the word love was written on them and I wondered if I too could be more beautiful if I fed myself only beautiful words. I resolved not to put myself down anymore.

Somewhere along the way I learned to take a compliment. To just say thanks instead of "but... blah blah blah here are the ways you are wrong which you didn't notice but now I will point out to you."

I fell in love again with a boy. It seemed that he loved me enough to make up for my issues. This is not true. Nobody can ever love you enough to make up for your issues.

As I learned confidence, he spat the words attention whore and vain at me like curses. These are not bad things, he was just insecure. It took me a while to realize that. I am proud to be hot and energetic and friendly and colorful and there is no way I'll ever stop shining brightly

But just last year, I sat with my friends Amy and Chelsea in a cabin by the woods having one of those serious late night talks about life when chelsea asked me abruptly:

"wait, do you love yourself?"

...duh. but her and amy looked at me in disbelief. no, most people don't. sad but true.

All around me are talented, stunning, sweet, sexy people who are literally dripping with self-loathing. They blame themselves for things that go wrong and can't take a kind word to heart. They beat themselves down. They never feel comfortable, always unsure of how another person feels, if they look ok...

These people are difficult to be around. Self-haters of the world, you're not doing me any favors.

you mistake strength for haughtiness and carry guilt everywhere. You make me feel selfish for knowing what I want, and you are always misplacing your self-esteem.

Here's what it is, girls and boys and everything in between-

You can't keep depending on others for your self worth (SELF worth.)

Be your own best friend.

if I fucked up, and we were friends, what would you do?

blame me, hate me, punish me?

or love me, console me, cheer me up?

Do it for yourselves. Tell yourself how fantastic you look everyday before leaving the house.

treat yourself. don't judge. just like you accept that one friend who is always 30 minutes late to everything- accept your own need to cuddle someone at least once a week. or that you are sometimes slower at finishing projects.

you only get to live once and you are your own greatest asset.

I am who I am. I fucking love who I am. And I'm not apologizing to anyone.

More Media

Attraction Series, Marsaille.







Word on the street series.

I want to continue the word on the street series in New York. It's more fun with a partner in crime, any takers?

I just finished reading "good fairies of new york" by Martin Miller, which cracked me up.

And now I'm reading "Noone belongs here more than you." by Miranda July (the woman who made You, Me, and Everybody We Know). It's beautiful and tragic. I love her as an artist. She makes movies, takes pictures, writes things, inspires people, and never ever loses that raw direct conversation with the viewer.

Fantastic.

Girls. Girls. Girls.

I just got my card back from new york. Pictures coming soon. The first is Cassis by night.

The past few days have been crushes and being crushed. Hangovers and hang outs. Shaved hearts and broken hearts.

This story begins sunday.
Sexybitch. a party I used to dance at- which like any good lesbian party, is full of herstories of fisting and exes and tequila fueled shenanigans. Somewhere in between the pina colada jello shots and photo gallery invitations, I met a girl.

Can a girl be 31? While others did the drunken cab shuffle, I giggled with her over capoiera and glitch music. In a bar where most girls look the same (pale, tattooed, short dark hair, punky-urban clothes) she looked just like everyone else. Leave it to me to find the only undercover raver.

She doesn't invite me home because I'm too young. As consolation we head to my favorite east village late-night haunt and she kisses me goodbye at the subway.

The next morning. Hungover and hungry bike ride with the girl (not a girl, the girl. you see the difference?) to a diner with the prettiest blueberry peach cobbler. She's been busy. You know, she's important. But hey its nice to see you and lets hold hands and go shopping for cameras like we're not dating other people.

Later that night. I'm full from hummus and rooftop picnics. She is drunk. We sit in the park and the sangria is a truth serum. Out comes the story of the hour: We're not allowed to sleep together, according to the girl that replaced me when I went away.

A word about replacements, if I may.
I left. I did, I know. And I don't regret it.
You make decisions and you live them and sometimes you lose things. Like shirts and ipod chargers and sometimes its bigger, its the girl you're falling in love with because she meets someone new who sticks around and the other lovely girl you were dating who only wanted the monogamy you couldn't give her.

Still despite the rule she scribbles hearts and initials on my thigh. kissing turns to touching turns to that face she makes turns to the two bodies waiting for the hearts to slow down as one echoes another. She falls asleep in my arms.

Tuesday. I tag along with a boy to guitar center where I meet men who fuck all day and night and boys who own bars and are in bands. next-the strand: reading sentences in silly voices, quoting dorothy parker, picking apart poems. go to my first barbershop. Ride uptown to expensive wine and beers, to discuss the trilogy of monotheistic religions with fancy bengali men and pretty faux girlfriends.



Wed. My new haircut is commemorated in a You Vs. Me photoshoot by the rad Jessica Glick [here are samples]




There's nothing wrong with vanity, and I'll admit it gladly: I think I look slammin' in these.

Onto another cute dinner meeting with the girl and my best friend. my best friend has a heart shaped bruise on her breast from good sex. I show them the heart in my hair, with the girl's initial in it. A token of my commitment to her cause. the girl seems mildly amused.
she is busy busy bumblebee. I leave to go off and live my life.

and here is when things go wrong. the rest of the night I get phonecalls from friends. About lies and supposed girlfriends. I get that punching vomit feeling. i've been duped and shit, how did the most honest chic in the block end up getting two timed again?

liars are cowards.

Here are a few tips to the world:

Try not to sleep with people who love you if you don't love them. It's called leading them on.

Try not to sleep with people by making them think you're not in a serious relationship. that's dishonest.

Try not to say "yes I want to see you" when what you really want to say is "no". It makes it simpler.

And just tell it like it is, kids. Save the drama for someone else. I can take the truth.


So, what next? what? after belgian ice cream consolations and shaving the A out of my heart leaving it empty? learning to stiltwalk? screaming loudly? laughing till I dont want to cry?

I have this healthy habit. I take pain out in tattoos, dyed hair, branding, piercings, drunken fights, and rough sex. I chose the last.

We got classy drunk on tequila and pbr and I went home with the prettiest most handsome boygirl who lives one block away from me. makeout so fierce I lost my nose-ring. bites and scratches. blurry lost clothes and muffled gasps. dont remember getting to bed. lost all concept of when and how. woke up curled up and happy to an offer to stay for breakfast.

Here's the funny part:
I left to get OJ and when I returned with the keys, I had no idea where I had come from.
I had to ask the construction worker hanging out across the street if he had seen me exit, and could he please point out what building it was?

More kisses and cuddles and I headed away.
Got on a bus. Preparing to switch reality for a desert adventure.
Wondering what I will lose by leaving this time,
but moreso- what I stand to gain.

This story is brought to you by maryland. bon Iver. Brazilian girls. my iced coffee.
and my new favorite recieved text message:

"I think you should fuck me at our earliest convenience."

A knife, a fork, a bottle and a cork. That's the way we spell New York.

That's me on the left. Whistling the tune of rainbows and right before the most glorious sunset.

here's the story of new york city:
You arrive, and some people are very excited to see you. You get $3 anytime bar margaritas and end up at some hip hop show where everyone has the same haircut as you. The next day is sunny, the weatherman is a liar. You sit in union square and buy dresses because it's just that kind of grassy laze that can't be done in pants. Before you forget, you stop by barnes and Nobles to buy two magazines: Curve, a lesbian one where your most recent ad is featured, and Radar,which contains your friends article: hipster hookers.You take vain pictures and go get coffee.

The coffeeshop is your favorite, in a neighborhood you can't afford to live in anymore. You know the girls that work there. You've slept with one of them, and you awkwardly flirt with her while you order. You leave early to get glitter and costumes for a renegade parade. You arrive at battery park: glittering strangers, dancing ferociously, inspiring onlookers to join.

You ride the staten Island ferry for the first time amongst 500 stilting, bubbling, hulahooping freaks and feel right at home. You end up in a park with acrobats and fire spinners. Later on that night, someone gets shot there.

As your muscles begin to ache, a nice guy buys you coconut water to replace your potassium. You buy a 32 oz blue moon and head to the after party. The same nice guy gives you mushrooms. Another nice guy gives you pot brownies, since you can't smoke with those post-wisdom teeth removal holes. You want to love everyone, and go around smiling and talking up a storm. You can't love the girl you used to date, she brought a new one. That saddens you for a brief moment. Instead of dwelling, you dance with the woman who throws the party to a Baltimore DJ Icon and have epiphanies.

You realize that when you are completely happy, you never feel like you are missing out. There is piece of you that stops wandering to the past and the future. Be it sitting in your room drinking wine, or kissing a girl- true happiness is two things: living in the moment, and knowing there is nowhere else you'd rather be.

You are there, in that perfect happy moment. You get a phone call from another girl who is getting arrested and beaten up at the other renegade street party. You worry about her.
You and your friend go around the corner to another party and dance to Drill and Bass till the cops shut it down. Backtracking, you watch the sunrise while the full moon is still up and think about how even if everything in the world were awful, the moon and the sun and the stars are always there to remind you of simple brilliance.

You think of this quote: "you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars" by e e cummings. You wish you were those things to someone. You, and the whole crew responsible for the night head to a diner that's about to close. They stay open for you and serve you $5 per person unending family style breakfast. As part of tip, your friend hula hoops for the diner manager.

You begin to stumble home at 7:30 AM, putting on your sunglasses. There is glitter in them and you walk back seeing a world as a purple shimmering mass.

New Home

Rainbow Warriors

(not my picture, but my friend. who threw a slamming renegade street party yesterday.)

I am a rainbow warrior. A member of the glitterati. And no longer homeless.

Williamsburg= home in less than three weeks.Living with my cousins- the happiest most high energy people, ever.

listen, I have so much to say about awkward exes and replacement. about dancing in sunsets and glittering faces and smiling till your face hurts. so much about drug cocktails and perfectly lazy saturday afternoons. about dance floor epiphanies and those conversations where you feel, for an instant, you really know someone.

but I have to run right now, left things at my old apartment and need to pick them up. then maybe meet some old friends and see where I end up.

I may be dancing tonight at a lesbian bar.

Oh, life.

Baby, it's 5 AM you must be lonely.

Woke up this morning (last night) knowing I need to make 300 $ a week for the next 3 months, post-burning man.
Doable, with the slight dabble into fetish and lowbrow work.

Getting on a bus in less than two hours headed for a new york adventure of the highest order.
You know, the old party till you drop find a job and apartment shuffle. Looking forward to it.
I don't really know quite the where and how of it all yet. Where am I staying tonight, for instance? Fucked if I know.

Spent the whole night drinking margaritas and halibut with my mother's 50+ yrs friends. We all discussed life, love, and dirty ER stories. Yes, these women laughed viciously about bananas lost up asses and broken vaginal cucumbers. Not to mention a gay couple who thought it was a good idea to place wedding bands around something more substantial than a finger, but underestimated the size of thier excitement. My personal favorite is the one where a man actually got stuck inside a woman. ouch.

And here, for you. I found something I wrote a bit ago. It's not exactly... polite.
------------------------------

6 Fucking Haikus


I just sneezed two times
You didn't turn around
fuck you up the ass.

Wait, come back to me.
I didn't mean what I said.
I swear your cock's big.

Kissing you is hot,
your hairy chest and beard
make me sweat. ew.

What is love? she asked
To answer her, he placed his
penis in her mouth.

They say love is pain
And all lovers relish in it.
WHOA there, kinky shit!

Let's do it in the ass?
But I am a feminist!
Does that mean it's full?

Capoeira

There is a story to it, a dance. A fight. a music. a culture. a community.
Rising up from brazil in a time where martial arts were illegal.

Taking my first class today (with my mother, and a friend) I worked out till my blue american apparel tank top was a sweatrag. immediately after, everyone had birthday cake and discussions about a famous teacher who was visiting the group-

and it struck me. Unlike tae kwon do, nobody here was trying to hurt anyone. And there were people of all shapes and sizes jumping around doing spins I can't do. putting my cartwheels to shame. kicking+ drumming+ sweating+ cartwheels+ spinning+ nice people+ a good backstory= I'm sold.

Capoiera, contanct dance, belly dance, hula hooping, stilt walking.
my to learn list for 2008.

Edited more pictures today! attraction series pics:





That's London and Amsterdam. Marsaille is yet to come.
----------

Some days, the first thing you do when you wake up is roll over and sleep more because theres some dream that you need to follow for just one more moment.
this was one of those days. one of those lay out in the sun reading Female Chauvinist Pigs while wearing a skimy bikini and body oil. eat blueberries and plums day.

But then I recieved a distressed facebook message that could be summarized as saying that my ex hates my guts, never wants to be my friend, and wishes I didn't exist. Oh, and could I stop sleeping with his friends?

I responded that I'd love to be friends. that his hatred is probably unhealthy and he should learn to let it go. And I do exist. Oh, and cute new mohawk, darling.

You'd think that when you breakup, the fighting stops. but somehow this has presisted nine months and (for me) 12 sexual partners later.

There is something about traveling and not taking things personally that really lets people handle things calmly, even with a bit of humor. A few years ago I'd have been fuming, but right now- I can't remember the last time I was angry.


emotions I haven't felt in months:
anger
self loathing
regret
hate

Remind me later, to write about the secret to loving yourself. Because I do.
I love myself. sometimes, I kiss my own shoulder and think "hey, I like you."

Vanity, Rollercoaster Zen, and Burning Man-ia

Vanity, thy name is boredom with a new CF card.


There is excitement in the air.
Dreams, American Dreams of burning men and deserts and costumes.
10 people (4 high school friends) camping for a week among thousands and thousands
dancing to all music meeting all people taking Polaroids and hallucinogens
giving old costumes and kisses and onthespot personalized poems
coming home to some address that includes a time as a cross street
and sleeping in a silver dome in the dark sky spotted with blinking LED stars

Before all this is the time for lists.
I make lists of all the lists I must make: fulbright, job search, apartment, burning man
contemplate modeling nude and stalk people online
wish people missed me who don't, get surprised when others do
dilly dally on the net till I get fidgety and instead I do what I do everyday-
make my grandmother smile. It's kind of like taking over the world, pinky.
Today I took her to see Mamma Mia, and I got a huge smile in return.

Two nights ago I went to county fair
went upside down and backwards, lived weightlessly and decided
that it's really zen riding rollercoasters because you really have to live in the moment.
ate funnel cake and didn't care if I was sugar dusted.
screamed out everything I'd been holding in.

Stopped in the middle of the street on the ride home to headbang/dance with the seatbelts on like one of those sappy movie moments to jimmy eat world's "the middle" singing " Live right now. Yeah, just be yourself. It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else." and climaxing on "Everything will be allright!" as though it was some sort of gospel.

I really do live for moments like that.

There is something horribly unsatisfying about spending the entire day in front of a computer screen. Despite all common sense that this is necessary to do everything, it still serves only to stress me out and shorten my temper.

I was never happier than when I owned very little and never stopped moving.
Staying ahead of one's own desire for momentum relieves stress.

I have only recently realized the weight of owning THINGS. How heavy it is. How much care must go into it. How much energy. Very soon, I'll be stripping myself down to the bones.

speaking of bones, I have a 4 gaping holes in my mouth. to the bone.
I'm not supposed to smoke.


I am not supposed to think about the girls.
I can't blame them though.

I make it hard for them to hold on to me.
How can water be mad at the hands for the cracks it slips through?

I am libra.
I am indecisive air.

Instead of goodbye I leave you with this.

[I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.]

Margaret Atwood.

Poem for my best friend's little sister and my ex-boyfriend's ex-fling

graffitiscarves copy
Originally uploaded by Iamsurrealism

write a poem about me

not about the one you love
in another state
who has forgotten about you- about me

I'm here next to you
I'll just sit and listen to the crickets conversations

I'll say I was there
when the masterpiece was written

I read your other poems by the way
you inspired me to write too
a poem on my calculator after my math exam

are you writing about me yet?

yes
I am writing about
the Jamaican Rum Cream
the impromptou picnic
the shadows falling strategically on your face

it might be you or the pot we just smoked
but I really want to kiss you

you tell me
the rasta colors on your sweater
look like rainbows when stared at long enough

when I stare at you long enough
your face turns into

stop talking so I can finish this goddamn metaphor

you teacup of vodka half full you
blinding and beautiful as a firefly at 3 AM

kiss me
or I am going to keep writing.

Daydreams and Bike Paths

This picture is one (not the best one, just one) from a series my friend stephanie is doing on self inflicted scars.

Girls like her and my friend Amy who designs clothes like this:
are the reason why we are plotting starting an art magazine. Amy and I like to take showers together and draw pictures of layout in the steam.

I spent yesterday giving advice about parents.
Things that took me far too long to learn, about dropping that instinct that says "none of your beeswax" and taking the time to thank your parents for pestering you.that taking 5 extra minutes to explain yourself can not only make the process of leaving the house easier, but in the end, it may gain you support.

Even my patience is sometimes limited as I repeat "this is how she shows you she cares" 100 times in my head to myself as my grandma gives me lectures about getting married to a nice man and having babies.

I rode my bike all over the neighborhood with a neon boy, cursing as night fell and made us blind. drinking pomegranite green tea. Stopping by a girl's house to teach her how, and running after her as she biked away. having the girls mother tell funny stories about accidents and drunken cruises.

all I really ever want to do is coast, hands free, wind in my face, feet on the frame.
it's my favorite thing.
all my friends snowboard, skateboard, ski, rock climb, run, swim, and even play kickball.
But until now I've been biking alone.

Then I dragged my achy muscles to another girls house, where her me and him ( i love pronouns)
sat in a hot tub discussing theories about life and art.

I love girls cooking food for me. I love chocolate chip brownies. I love glasses of red wine. I love sunny mornings. I love coffee runs.

and I love my new backpack.

Rockin' The Suburbs

Editing makes such a difference.

I sometimes forget how much it helps a photo, makes the color POP- it's like finally wearing eyeliner after spending a week recovering from surgery. Editing is makeup for pictures.

Didn't make it to the county fair (sleepy friends and balmy weather) but instead hotboxed a car and saw Pineapple Express.

Listen, I am no big fan of stupid movies. I actually walked out of Superbad.
But I LOVED PINEAPPLE EXPRESS. Stoner movie done right. don't bother attending sober.

I haven't been so worked up about an ending since my friends and I were jumping on my couch screaming "Kill Him!!!" and pumping our fists at the end of Deathproof.

I love my house, people. You should see it. Big grassy backyard. wood deck for grilling and in depth conversation. Miniatures and middle eastern art all over. Grandma's apple plum stew and long grain rice in the fridge.

And my absolute favorite extra-long leather couch which I perch and nest in at all times.
Whether I'm reading a book, writing an email, or covertly flirting with the little sister of an old friend- it's all here.

I have a belly-full of laughs and strawberry-banana pancakes.
I'm going to sleep like a doll baby.

Bombs Going off in my Head

I'm procrastinating emailing istanbul universities, instead I'm giving you my current CD mix on repeat, courtesy of a best girl friend who headed south to follow heartbreak and bullheaded romance.

Lets call it the Breena Left Me For A Penis Mix!

Toxic- Yael Naim
Fake Palindromes- Andrew Bird
Who Loves The Sun- Velvet Underground
Crosses- Joze Gonzalez
Party's Crashing Us- Of Montreal
Doll Parts- Hole
(White Man) in Hammersmith Palais- The Clash
Sweet Potatoes- Sia
Leather- Tori Amos
Too Long- Yael Naim
Action/Adventure- Andrew Bird
No Sleep for the Wicked- Example
Organ Donor- DJ Shadow
Building Steam With a Grain of Salt- DJ Shadow

I'm musically Schizophrenic.
What are you listening to?


I'm off to the COUNTY FAIR now, guys.
That's what you do in the suburbs. get stoned and go to the fair.
love. life.

It's about time I posted a poem.

An attempt to describe why I put off buying my new mac charger
for three months

I miss things
I have never owned.

Quill pens. typewriters. wax seals. you.

This whole mess
this web net tangle of me sitting
staring at your name knowing you
are sitting staring at -maybe- mine

it has gone too far.
it travels the world in seconds now.
faster than an eraser,
any delete button.

And it's too personal.
I make visible promises on public pages
like some modern bastard of a contract.

I want things to be out of hand and in mouth.

never again a dear john letter
never again a dear najva

your grandfather died and I
couldn't bring myself to call

that gets routed to my SPAM folder.

Nipples and Champagne

IMG_5114
Originally uploaded by Iamsurrealism

Are not exactly the life I'm leading right now.

It's way more about editing, researching, applying, organizing.

What I sometimes forget is that after you spend a certain amount of time creating, you must then set aside time to make that work available to the public. Finding a forum to make those pieces connect to others.

I can finally sleep, even though vicodin gives me nightmares. I spent yesterday drinking margaritas with my past and having cookie batter chocolate fudge fatty fatty mcfat fat ice cream.

Found old pictures on my memory card. Ate dinner with my dad while he told me about his miracle anger management counseling sessions.
Salmon and Cococnut and Messiah, oh my!

Now I'm home at 6 AM no sleep yet because pretty boys and girls manage pretty conversation.

It's a nice break.

THE PROBLEM WITH BEING AN INTIMATE ARTIST
is that when I'm editing photos and poems
I'm really editing old friends, lovers, breakup stories.
I'm fixing the contrast on the freckles of one girl's back
and going through pictures half naked gogo dancing
with my ex-boyfriend.

really, I'm nostalgia. 24 hours a day.

It must be interesting, to be an artist whos work is not too personal. Work that can be shown with no reservations because
HEY there is no girl on your legs in the picture staring back at you
or written references to drugs or insecurities.

Like casual unattached sex. Casual unattached art.


I can do A, but to do B is not my style.
Instead I'll discuss Neil Gaiman books
and giggle over my ex's inability to drink alchohol
without turning tomato.

What I am to You.

IMG_7675
Originally uploaded by Iamsurrealism

It was sitting where this girl is sitting, at the top of cassis, when I realized I had made it. REALLY made it.

I mediated and reflected and rejoiced in the pure insanity of funding my own trip to europe. being alone. and having so much living yet to do.

Here is the thing about me- I do things I say I am going to do. Often it takes me eons after I begin discussing something to accomplish it but I always do.

1. Get romantic and whisper tattooed behind my ears. [2 years]
2. Backpack through europe alone. [5 years]
3. Graduate college in three years [2 years].
4. Get an internship at VICE [3 months].
5. Nose piercing [1 year].
6. Write a book of poems [3 years].

and now I'm filling up my spare time making to do lists in my mind.
I'm repeating over and over my desires...

- fulbright scholarship
- teaching in barcelona
- backpacking through south america
- having an artists collective in BK
- moving to san fran
- visiting new orleans
- seeing the northern lights

I am putting my faith in the power of repition and determination.
There's a girl who told me ( when I demanded a streetcorner kiss) that I can't always get what I want...

But I somehow do.
And if I don't get it, I try to appreciate whatever comes my way in its stead. a little zen never hurt anybody.

speaking of which, i forgot

- visit an ashram
- volunteer/visit carnivale

In the book I'm currently reading, Eat Pray Love [don't judge, it's my moms] it talks about how every place and person has a defining word. Rome, it claims, is SEX. New York is ACHIEVE. Los Angeles is SUCCESS.

I think my word is CONNECT.
physcially, mentally, emotionally. through dance, music, kissing, art.

I realized this morning that I finally came up with a first line to the book I want to write. I'm always thinking of first lines to books but this one came as an echo, pre-packaged in the voice of my character.

It was like looking out a car window after a nap and seeing a beautiful stretch of road laid out before you.

I can't wait to start writing.
and chewing.


man, i'm so done with this whole chipmunk cheek thing.
thank god for girls who arrive in the morning with spinach omlettes and oatmeal and chai tea, and bands who play for free in grassy parks right around sunset, and the distinct shade of pink the clouds turned this evening while I was on the phone with my best friend.

Humanity, I want to know you from the inside.

I'm ON DRUGS.

If you don't get the reference immediately, you need to go watch almost famous.

Really, Almost Famous is way better than my blog.

One of the greatest compliments I've ever gotten was from a girl I barely knew, whom I hadn't spoken to in years. She stopped me on the street and said:

"OMG naj. I just saw Almost Famous for the first time yesterday and I kept thinking how you were just like Penny Lane."

That's not the point. The point is that people who get the quotes, those are my favorite hippie chicks. OH and I'm on lots and lots of post-surgery drugs.

I'm listening Yael Naim, Animal Collective, and DJ Shadow. 

I'm plotting dinner. Capoiera classes. A free show in the park tonight.

 I'm uploading film photography that makes me want to learn color printing. 

I have sent too many text messages to New York City and received none in return. 

The nitty gritty is this:

You wake up and ride a bike with your friend. pick up green tea and pomegranate smoothies. dip in the pool. read a bit. make your grandmother smile. almost have a heart attack driving in traffic. think of someone you like. think about kissing them. take a nap with some friends. listen to your friends podcast. serve friends your grandma's homemade soup. watch Goodbye Lenin in tangles on your basement floor. 

Try to figure out what time we are upon and where we belong.

don't think too hard about it.

I won't think too hard about 

how yesterday I had a pang for a torrent of tears.

I was watching crying on TV and remembering how deeply I sleep after a good cry.

I haven't felt that much unfiltered emotion since January 9th.

Like I said. I'm not going to think about this.

Instead I leave you with something a girl I know said recently that I firmly believe:

Go back to what gave you pleasure in childhood and do it again. 

You'll be amazed at the results. 

similar to my favorite Baudelaire quote..."Genius is childhood recaptured at will."

I'll be on a swing in a backyard somewhere, 

listening to happy music about people holding hands.

In Memory

_MAR1205
Originally uploaded by missmaro72

Of purple hair. Or a full head of hair, for that matter.
Of the times where I danced naked every weekend. Shaved my legs.
Of mommy and daddy paying rent.
Of un-swollen cheeks, and casual sexual partners I don't remember the names of.

This picture is to remind me that I'm hot. Because at the moment...

I had a bad reaction to the IV, and spent all yesterday crying and puking blood. Not a good look. Right now I have chipmunks cheeks and too much vicodin in my system.

I have been eating soup and mashed potatoes. crying on and off. talking on the phone when I shouldn't. Reading paul cohelo books and cuddling with mommy.

Two nights ago I had all my friends around me. We smoked pot and had a potluck and shared storytime. I told them my 4 new understandings about life.

1. everyone is selfish/ out to make themselves happy.
2. there is nothing wrong with this.
3. sometimes what makes someone else happy, is not what makes you happy.you can't hold that against them.
4. with all that in mind, don't take the world so personally. very little actually has to do with you.

minor sidenote: you are only free to make yourself happy insofar that it does not get in the way of anyone else's ability to be independently happy.

(end rant)

OTHER minor sidenote.


doesn't it look like alex? I tagged him on facebook but he detagged it. It's a shame, I think, to be unable to speak to an ex. Someone who spent so long in bed with me. who picked me up when I fainted in school. who heard the worst fights between me and my parents. who helped me through school. who taught me how to love, really.

Although i recently learned how many lies were involved. how every day he lied to my face and therefore never trusted me.

Still, all is forgiven. It's just tragic. I'd like to get coffee with my past and hash things out.

meanwhile,
I want my future honest to the apple core.
is that too much to ask?

Things you should know about this moment

I used the beatles album to drown out inappropriate noises in my basement.
My arm is sore and my legs are bruised.
I am eating hummus and carrots.

Tomorrow I get my wisdom teeth removed and get knocked out for THE VERY FIRST TIME.

I bought a website. Najvasol.com. Keep an eye out...