Seen & Heard

* A dusty and uncorked 1999 bottle of Chateau Latif and, to my surprise, in excellent drinking condition.
* "A curious mind to the point of self-destruction. That makes the great artist." - Uncle P & Tipsy

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

So the story goes like this. MM wants to send me a link to a Milton poem because the first line is exactly how he feels. I ask if it's long on account of my ADD, which I don't actually have, but remember his poems being bloody books long. He sends, I read...

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,...

I gasp and get up recalling an elegy by Milton somewhere in my library. My memory stinks. Shortly after, I inform MM that I've given up because the light is out, so I can't f*cking see. MM screams via instant messenger, "Eureka!"... (ok, let me indulge). He concludes that
I AM THE POEM!

Fin

The story doesn't suck as much if you were a part of my cyber convo. Mostly what it does do is remind me of what I miss.

Running Woman 8

It was a perfect day to run from love texts, a professor's Mavis invitation, calls from Mr Marketing. The crunching of the leaves louder than A Summer Wind martini or the Go Baby Go blasting in my ear. I ran from two lonely, English women, whose world of books and a boy could no longer contain them. I ran from the crepes party, compliments of a real Frenchman, the shoe designer, who runs to Italy to find herself running back, and the artist whose wife simply wasn't there. All the runners were, so I ran, too, faster than the scandalous Sunday green. When does it fall?

I Killed Cyrus

And in my leather gloved hand I carry 3 bottles to clink and taunt my enemies with. I'm such a badass bopper.

Darkroom Diaries

Pitch black. I turn the wheels hoping the film's hooked and moving along. A G*d damn miracle I'm doing it without a hitch. My mind is on industry. Mass production. Machine versus nature. The theme I'm considering for further exploration. It's not a new concept and has probably been recycled a million times over. So f*cking what?! That IS industry. It all started when I found a dead tractor on the field yesterday. There were weeds and berries and shrubbery growing all around it. Swallowing the engine. I thought about the land that once was. What is. If I had been standing 5 feet away those berries would have been grapes and hell, I'd kick the dust, too. Makes no difference. Nature always wins. My Canon will be ready.

Garbage is Good

You're such a delicate boy
In a hysterical realm
Of an emotional landslide
In physical terms

Go baby go

Darkroom Diaries

I'm taking a photography class to satisfy my creative urges. Music & dance are lulling a bit and The Pink Room is closed for renovations. I used to be an art major once you know. But my Venus must have been in retrograde because I became incredibly indecisive about burnt amber, shading techniques, what angle to sketch on the angle of a cube, etc... I simply lacked conviction. It's also full circle for me. In high school, photography was serving the same purpose. I desperately needed a new medium and there it was in black-n-white. The science of it all was a relief. Surprisingly enough, it still is today. I live in the dark room. Strange things happen there in "Mars," as I like to call it. Time is folded in half and I come out with gray hair, a meager 4 prints, and into the night. Developing is a whole other planet. Or just outer space. Blindness. I'm a terrible blind person, fumbling with things that can hurt. Scissors & can openers. Anyway, I'm loving darkness. It's not pretty. It stinks actually. Lots of toxic chemicals. Very Dr. Frankenstein. He had creative urges, too. Hopefully, with a little luck and trays full of conviction, I will create a print that's luminous and alive.

Coming Soon...

to a catwalk near you in October, 2008.

Vavavoom shoes brought to you by Ritzzzzzzzzzz

Let-A-Rip

I met this man, Rip, at a dinner party. He asked me out. My voice moved up 5 octaves as I gave about 5 responses with no real answer to his question. Real smooth.

Police artist sketch by Cupcake

“Wine is bottled poetry.”

-Robert Louis Stevenson

Seen & Heard

* A man on his bike in his final race to hide.
* "Sometimes the answer is in a chainsaw." - The Derelict

Lost in Space

For future reference: All the love in the world
can't save someone who is lost in space.

I Surrender

Cycle 7

I attempted to do one of the 5BBC Perimeter Series without any training. Bad idea. I didn't make the 45 miles & probably won't do another perimeter until I've acquired some road mileage. In spite of this "speed bump," I learned that I possess a great will to make something of my tiny frame - and the 14" steel one I ride. My body pushed harder than it could through a place I've never seen in the daylight. Three things about Staten Island: (1) The people don't really care for cyclists (2) The island does have some beautiful views (3) Many of the street names end with the word "Kills." We lunched at the Conference House grounds. It turns out Great Britain & its subjects tried to make peace after signing the Declaration of Independence at this very house. As you know, that conference never quite worked out. Neither did the weather. It started raining. With clouds looking like they meant business (possible T-storms), our sweeper getting a flat, & then wrestling with his tangled chain, the leader decided we should train it home. Good thing. I was spent. We got on at Totenville, the last stop on SIR. It took about 40 minutes to get to the ferry. G and I decided to chance the now heavier rain (T-storms never actually came). We rode back over the Brooklyn Bridge soaking wet. No matter, it was worth it. Staten Island ain't the only borough with beautiful views.

Sunday total: 36 miles

bird

suffering inside the in-between
down where the shadows grow
something that's cold at war with me
it's good i'm getting up
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
close your eyes
and go with it
far from the crush of everything
leaving the world behind
spinning inside a crazy dream
of everything at night
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
and close your eyes
and go with it
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
close your eyes
and go with it
just go with it
just go with it
just go with it

Dreamboat

A Butterfly Takes Manhattan

A Man : In the Key of G

It's not
What you thought
When you first began it
You got
What you want
Now you can hardly stand it though,
By now you know
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up

You're sure
There's a cure
And you have finally found it
You think
One drink
Will shrink you 'til you're underground
And living down
But it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up

Prepare a list of what you need
Before you sign away the deed
'Cause it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
So just...give up

A. Mann

Terrifically sad with my shifting of memories and my missing G.

Pale Face

I took off from work to see my man, Gustav, and teared up some. There are only two other artists to make my eyes all watery, Pablo & Vincent. Sadly, there were not enough of Gustav's paintings, but still enough to gain inspiration from. Incredible pencil, sometimes charcoal, sketches of gorgeous, mysterious women. Portraits, too, of ghosts in the dim light. Oh, those women haunted me through the murky subway ride home. Harlots swimming in the lightweight, neutral, translucence of the beige backdrop. It made them more erotic if that's even possible. The one painted lady in all her golden glory, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, can be seen anytime. I think NYC is her home. But what was most stunning was another oil. Her name, Pale Face. I dare say she could make Mona Lisa blush with her wily smile.

The Pink Room

I just got back from the first art session with my super-cool-Queens-Boulevard-of-death-artist-pal, "Dee." Dee, also an accomplished photographer, has surreptitiously become one of my idols. How can I deny a woman who rendevouzed with Sonic Youth? This latest experiment I'm calling, The Pink Room. The color may change depending on my mood. Kinda like a mood ring. A mood blog! For tonight, it's pink in her honor.

So I did 2 still life sketches, while Dee finished a commissioned piece. One was in graphite with a dash of pink, orange, green.... The other, though unfinished, is more involved. Graphite, strong colored pencils, & ink. My fingers are now possibly a permanent shade of gray. I like to rub... I did remember not to wipe my hands on my "girlie girl" (as Dee would call it) blouse. 'Cause I so would have done that 10 years ago.