The impossible is possible.
Last night, my partner-in-crime and I woke up, rolled out of bed, and went to the New Museum to be part of the rebuild rome project.
2:30 AM is perfect museum-visiting time.
5 AM, hot glue gun in hand, cardboard temple in my lap, wine by my foot.
Talked with the other crazies, one of the guys from parts and labor, and the artist.
Collaborative art. Art about process. Art with a story.
Art with a point to make.
Let's get drunk, and make the impossible possible. Let's set your mini statue on fire on new york city sidewalks. please pass the grapes. What year is it now?
6:30 AM, bike ride home. New york was just opening its eyes. Sunlight rather unsure of itself. Me, giggling and giddy.
Just like when I was the door girl at a greenpoint rave this weekend, arms by my side. superhero pose. "show me your shit!" I screamed with glee. "flash me!" I mean your stamp of course. There is so much power in being less fucked up than the next person.
I can see your twitching jaws, glassy eyes, stumbling dance moves.
The rave was an afterparty for the pillowfight held earlier that day on wall st. You know, the type of shindig where you snuggle up close and swing a pillow around to a few hundred of yr closest strangers.
My laptop is turning purple from my new hair dye. I spend too much time in front of the computer, but what am I supposed to do? It's my job.
Generally when I'm not on the computer, I am being vomit-inducingly cute.
Example (taken at Niagara photobooth right after visiting the Antagonist Art Movement show):