Picture Post: Burning Man NY Decompression

[Word On the Street Series]
Recently found a picture from a late drunken night in Spain...

There are 3 things to do in this town: Watch TV, Become a genius, You.

Choices. and saying yes to the world.

New york has this way of catching you when you least expect it.
More than anywhere else in the world you are highly aware of your paralell universes,
your other possibilities of how to spend each moment. Relaxing is not calm but more a denial of options, a choice to not do anything beyond breathing and unwinding.

and going out at night? It's a garden of forking paths. each time you choose, you know of 7 other paths you could be walking down.


Showing up to see a band play, the same band that did this music video sent to you one year ago by one of your favorite boys:


Your friend is throwing the party.
You waltz in, know people, dance to techno reggaton mixes- then decide to leave where the world takes you. Escorted in a car, free, to a party in brooklyn at studio B with a notorious house DJ (Mark Farina) and your own goddamn bottle of vodka. for what? for saying yes to the ways of the world.

You learn that as long as you are doing amazing things, you are never wondering about the other possibilities you could have lived. You are satisfied and busy.

And then sometimes crazy nights lead you to crazy instances where you meet the Drum and Bass MC you thought was cute on the boat with Dara and christian Bruna over a year ago, the b-boy with the backpack. He says something heartbreaking about your cornea and asks you on a date to a museum while talking about freestyling to dubstep.

there is that triple threat: intelligent, attractive, ability to dance. and more, you've met him before while he was onstage at a weekly Drum and Bass party in your old haunt, the east village.

years ago you had turned to your boyfriend and said "that boy is cute" to which he responded with his ever jealous sneer.

now it is now and you lean in to kiss him and he says DAMN
it's been 10 years since a girl's taken the initiative.

But you can't hate a girl who looks good dancing.

Picture this: Faux naomi campell with a drink in her hand pushing through a dance floor.

When she gets to my friends and I she shoots up dirty looks and demands for up to let her through as her drink is in danger of spilling.

"I'm trying to walk here!" screams naomi.

"THERE'S A REASON IT'S CALLED A DANCE FLOOR" I shout back.

Fiesty, I'm always ready to throw a punch at girls like her. They are my pet peeve. Granted- I was at a fancypants club that really didn't want to let me in (they had to, I was on the list) but drinks on the dance floor and psuedo shufflers who throw dirty looks at the ones who are really getting down- UGH.

Moby did spin a fantastic set. And with 3 pretty girls and some pizza to go we jet-setted to the party where crystal castles was DJing. We may have taught a few hipsters something about raving. completely sober too. Yup.

Can I please mention how much I love new music (esp brazillian)? Listen to this episode of One Bad Apple, a podcast my friend ruby hosts.


There's a halloween shitshow going down, and I am part of it. I'm the head of the glitterati and candy army, which is exactly the type of contribution I should be making. Lets just put it this way: STREET PARTY to SUBWAY PARTY to LOFT PARTY to SECRET AFTERPARTY. you're jealous. come to new york, and you won't be.

The next night I'm go-go/lapdancing here:



and doing burlesque that sunday at sexybitch, flyer to come.

(busy weekend,hm?)


Planning last night. Biked to my friends bushwick loft eating sushi and fresh corn, drinking wine, discussing how to make halloween magical with a crew of nightlife magicians.

After a stop by a neighborhood bar, took (finally) took home a girl I've been flirting with here and there. Over the past few days we have done the following:

walked the williamsburg bridge
pretended it's my birthday at a deli for free chocolate
kissed
gotten in a water fight
gave a guy a kiss on the cheek and subsequently got 3 month passes to the guggenheim
found fun records on the street for her collection
drank too many beers
watched religulous
tied each other up
got stoned
giggled for 20 minutes in the middle of sex
dubbed my room the batcave


As with everything else, I have no expectations. but she can mimic the lesbian dance perfectly, has nice legs, loves fags, and seems sincere.


I really think too much of my life is pre-occupied with other people. but at least I cleaned my room today! and (less sarcastically) I got a callback for a scholarship I applied for!

That's all folks.

Commentary. Trancendance. SMUT.

Yesterday doing yoga I had one of those moments where pain turns to pleasure and a body is just a body, and maybe you're aroused by the physicality of that place in your mind.

That sentence almost makes sense.

Less vague:
I'm seeing a ladyboy who called herself partially strong girl, partially shy 15 yr old boy. Which is funny, as those could be considered my two types. she makes espresso and thinks her cats are puppies and likes her earlobes and leather and bleeds too much and sometimes sends really sweet text messages that make me smile more than I'd like to admit.

"she's very poly [amorous]."
that's the word on the street about me. I mean, I never stopped to think about it. But hey, if it's obvious to a stranger then I suppose I am. Though I'm not sure what my limits are. I suppose I'll find out when I hit them.

Isn't that the way to go? Blindly into living? Jumping headfirst, arms outstretched?

I'm curating an art show not knowing how to curate an art show.
But it's going well.

This piece will be in it, I think:



and here is why when I go online some days, I just can't stop giggling:



Hi world,
Lets be friends.

KORRUPT + CO.

Korrupt last night was brilliant. Gaslamp Killer went from dubstep to NIN to hip hop and I think I fell in love- with him. We came as a glitter ARMY in the limo, to bottles of champagne and goodie bags (filled to the brim with condoms, rubber gloves, underwear...)

Gave out cum shots at the party (which are suprisingly potent) out of my faux penis, did some shadow dancing, mostly loved how fucking beautiful my friends are.



Here are some of my favorite shots of the night.
More to come, super soon.

models are to be seen and not heard. and then sometimes I like to rant.

And sometimes at 4 am on a saturday morning when i decide to forego dancing all night because I'm cold and tired and leaving the house sounds unappealing I decide to watch shitty TV and there's that scene where 2 people kiss in the rain where it's so intense the camera circles around them and everything becomes a blur and water is in their face and probably up thier nose and maybe they are shivering a little too but they are full body kissing hands under shirts and in hair-

times like these I miss you. I see us in my head and my life is better than this stupid show. that week with the rainstorms so epic it took me two hours to drive 15 minutes and I watched you raft down what used to be a creek and I ran after you to save you because I thought you died when you didn't show up on the other side of those trees and I knew then I loved you because I would have jumped into that muddy water for you without thinking twice.

and I've never felt more alive than when I thought I was dying I mean really I guess that's fucked up to say but that fight we had where I cried so hard I puked a little? that was living and feeling with every pore of my body but I don't do that anymore because I know better. I practice safe sex not the kind I learned about in school no im not talking about condoms and spermicide I mean before I take my clothes off I hide my heart in something hard and cool and I know the rules about never cuddling too much never getting comfortable never letting yourself wake up in a pool of someone else's sweat

because if you don't get close you won't get stuck or at least it will take longer and everyone's down to play the distance game. I live in new york city, we are the masters of the casual encounter even if we are dating for 7 months I will never know if my body fits yours but I knew with him the first time we spent the night together and I knew so much I couldn't speak for 2 hours after and he was the only thing that existed in the rain and later the only thing by the fireplace and the only shoulder as safe as my parents

but shoulders are lies and rain is a lie and hey maybe the kiss is a lie and in search of honesty I've just preffered to keep my reality sterile. you keep your shoulders and spooning and romantic moments. romance is just a word I tattoo behind my ear so it's a part of me even when it isn't I hid it somewhere I can't see for a reason

I miss real things but I've grown complacent with complacent and that's sad for someone like me always chasing the ski jumps and 6 am dancing sad because I didn't go out and I sat at home and shivered and accidentally ended up missing you when what I really miss is nothing because I feel nothing and what we had was nothing or you made it nothing by never speaking to me again and sleeping with other people and I don't miss you I guess just the moment when someone touches you and everything else melts away and it's ok to let go and say fuck it and take the goddamn condom off your emotions and let your heart get rubbed so raw it's sore in the morning and you have trouble closing it for a few days after the fact.

The moments that make it worth it.

Najva:

I gave up on a real job.

I'm just teaching tae kwon do and nude modeling and dancing.

Alanna:

HAAHAHA

that is SUCH a najva answer.

Nice. like, if i said do you like the color blue? You'd be like well i guess, once i go go danced 'underwater' in a tub of blue jello on acid, it was fun.

Love it.

Secrets for the day

my lotion has a mild self tanner in it.

Teaching Tae Kwon Do to little kids is more satisfying than reading a book, sometimes.

I like people who remind me of me, and that's vain. and I don't mind.

digging my heel into your chest makes me hot.

I am always afraid of liking you too much. the you in this equation changes often.

The shocker isn't shocking, it's pleasant.

I have no idea how to set up a gallery show, but I'm doing my tip-top best.

My parents think I don't love them enough because I don't call back. I just keep shitty hours. But I feel bad for calling so few and far between.

I think my brother is the better child.

My body of work is my body of flaws.

The truth about blog writing is this: People read it. It's like a diary that your children have already found, a time capsule already dug from the ground. The future of the words is immediate. 

People come up to you and tell you they miss reading about your life and you wonder who else is out there, checking your updates- confirming their curiosities. You wonder why you write- for you or for them? Then there is too much pressure and you are busy and life happens and you forget to post something about that beautiful comment a girl made to you on a night last week and all of a sudden its too late. 

Time and attention is already one week ahead.

I'm hosting my first party saturday night. It promises to be epic. Last time it was practically a rave in a dim sum resuraunt in china town. This time will be even better. 

---------------------

What I was thinking while she was reading her poem at the open mic last night:

Shut up.

Stop talking about what you want your poem to do and just DO it.

You're wasting your words. my time. 

telling me all the dirty things you want to do to me while I'm naked in front of you and never laying a finger on me.

Useless.

Like your metaphors. 

Your two-bit thesaurus flowery language as though

being vague was a prerequisite of becoming a poet

as though real meaning is too heavy.

I don't care for abstract art.

16 black squiggly  lines are not the travels of odysseus and 

that intergalactic constellation of fascinating cohabitation with sweet relations like the roots of the african nation means only this:

you need to learn how to think outside the rhyme. 

there is more to a word than the sound that lingers at the end of it. 

Shut up.

Don't speak another language.

I'm just going to spend the rest of this uncomfortable sticky plastic couch experience thinking about what those awkward foreign sounds meant. 

I cling to my stella like a lifeboat. Not done yet.

worse, you're mentioning politics.

blah blah blah broken heart dog cat obama

every time you put in a dollar you get a soda

every time you say fuck the police you get a cheer

You make me want to apologize for calling myself a poet.

I'm sorry I was never raped 

abused, black or hispanic in america, dirt poor

sorry I can't memorize three poems and recite them

for years sorry

I don't want to preach politics to the converted sorry

I never lost a best friend or had a sex change operation

I am sorry I hate rhymes and  I am sorry I hate long poems and 

Sorry I didn't name drop ghandi or the baby I had from when I was 16 who is surprisingly well-adjusted.

My bad.

I guess, I'll shut up.

No really, that rasta guy over there has some important things to say.

Poetry,

I love you- but I think we need some time apart.

You're seeing other people, I hear stories 

and I know I shouldn't compare 

like that time my boyfriend cheated on me with a maxim magazine blonde

but I can't help thinking sometimes:

Poetry, when I witness you in your new lovers mouths-

I feel like maybe my words could use some plastic surgery 

become sharper, lifted, perked, more fit for slam consumption

I can't sit here and listen to you be stripped naked of your worth and dumbed down by the fumbling pens and lips of these strangers.

I'm drunk. I am going to pee.

apologies.

I am sorry. Because my life has been blogworthy and yet, I've neglected to write anything.

I am eating candy floss and chocolate dipped chile rubbed mango, sending out emails to artists for an art show I'm curating NOV 6th. I bartended tonight and came up with a drink called a white gummybear. Gin/vanilla stoli/peach schnapps/sprite/ginger ale.

I've been reading nice books and eating vegan curry and sweet potato chili while writing application essays in my friends studio. I did my first burlesque show, to "toucha toucha touch me" from the rocky horror picture show. I broke it off with a girl I was seeing. I remembered to stay all grown up when I just want to be young and immature.

Freelancing means eternal job searching. It's brilliant and exhausting.

My birthday went smoothly except for an incident with a girl on mushrooms with inappropriate ideas who wanted the one thing we couldn't do: to be casual.
s
Friday was a riot, as was saturday. and sunday.

Tonight I went to a poetry reading that is inspiring a whole why I hate poetry rant. Watch out.

I have to be a fancy model in 3 hours. I need rest. I love you, recorded world.

I promise not to neglect you again.

21 Years Old.

I can now legally buy alcohol and not much has changed.

More things to say, really soon. Gimme a break, it's my birthday.

Old Things. Pretty Things. Bike stealing. Spray Painting.

So a few days ago my bike was stolen from next to me by some guy in a series of unfortunate events. Turns out he biked it home drunkenly and called someone the next morning (and word got back to me) that he woke up in queens curled next to a bike- and had no idea where it came from.

Fingers crossed and all that jazz, my baby bike  is coming home.

Learning to bartend, learning how to pretend to make a long island ice tea. Learning how to spill things on yourself and smell like a sewer.

Watched the two hardcore straight edge adorable boys from work tag up a building last night. Met a friend of a friend, sonia- who told me about go-go dancing in Madrid and Barcelona, studying photo, and her 5 jobs.

Dude, I'm 21 in 3 days. 

4 random things

1. why did it take me this long to discover that my two biggest celebrity crushes (katherine moenning and Ian somerholder) were not only in a TV show together (Young Americans) but they were also involved on screen?

2. My friend dennis, who is now biking along the south coast of spain, advised me to take a mediation retreat. I signed up for one in january, and if all goes well- I will spend ten days not speaking, writing, dancing, or eating meat. sounds terrifying, which is why I have to do it.

3. my little brother had sex for the first time. he's 16 and for the past few months he's been asking my friends (and me) for advice (a sense of humor was the most popular response). anywhoo, it seemed he was a little quick on the draw but with trusty advice from sex-positive big sis (the only person he asked, aww) he figured out the jumpstart and stayed in the game for the long run and the (mutually) satisfying blastoff.

3. I cooked my first persian dish today. One of my favorites- apple and plum stew over rice. Grandma helped. It was totally delicious. we had a birthday dinner complete with cash money birthday presents, sweet white wine, vintage dress, and questions about how long till I get married.