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ARTFUL SMATTERINGS AND EXISTENTIAL RAMBLINGS



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truths: art pt. 3

Linger in the past only as long as it activates you. Grasp the present fearlessly.

TWELVE CUBIC FEET » “JAYWALKING”

DEMO (1983)

poem on the road to ashville

every moment is precious, I think

in fact I am obsessed with moments

the peculiarities of each person around me

I am the writer

I have come to be in your space

my directness can be unsettling

I am sorry for that

I want to know you

I want to know about you so I can know you

tell me your favorite jazz standard

I Didn’t Know What Time It Was, you say

but I want more

I want to know how you say it

the sound of your floating voice

how your eyes look

how your eyes make me feel when you look at me

when I am observing you

I love the world

  • I found some old, half-finished disposable cams in my room circa ‘06. Turns out they made for fun blown-out, super grainy photographs. These are from a trip to Brooklyn last fall.

  • Dream

    This morning I dreamt I almost died. Not like I just missed being hit by a car or escaped a psychopathic killer, but death itself was coming for me. The way I knew I was about to die was that my tumblr account had deactivated on its own. I had this realization in my parents’ bedroom of my childhood home. I walked into the hallway and told someone about it, I don’t remember whom, and I was crying and saying that I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t ready to. Suddenly I was lying on my back on a sidewalk in a city, it felt like New York, and I could feel death with me. My eyes were closed. I felt myself floating upward and the blackness give way to a white light and suddenly I was no longer afraid. I was happy and comforted. Then back on the ground I noticed a candy bar near me. I started eating it, and I began coming back to this world. I was sad because I was no longer experiencing the euphoria of death. On the second floor balcony of what I imagine was an apartment building stood my ex-boyfriend and his friends smoking cigarettes, and someone even threw a lit one down at me. I wanted to express what I just experienced but I was having a hard time doing so. I got a text message later that mentioned Lou Reed and how “last night was crazy.”

    so on

    twice, at the same time
allston, january 2013

    “I just can’t do it any longer. The music business is a bunch of jive bullshit and I don’t want us to be available for the public to mutilate and misrepresent. I feel we can exist in more interesting ways while producing more interesting art. And our peers don’t challenge the industry AT ALL, just complain to each other about “having” to play shows for bullshit sponsors. I think it’s all a pathetic attempt for a current counterculture and I can’t have anything to do with it. Life is too short and music is too important.”

    Alex Coxen of Milk Music on his band’s decision to stop playing shows for the foreseeable future (via jennpelly)

    Another notable quote: “I dance to stay alive.” Yep.

    And: “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It’s getting hard to be someone, but it all works out. It doesn’t matter much to me.” True wisdom.

    Full interview here. Great work JP.

    (via jennpelly)

    WILT No. 3

    I’m writing this morning because last night I ventured into the woodlands of Hunting Valley with Gina. I can say Gina instead of “my friend Gina” now because I’ve spoken of her often enough on this blog that the nature of our relationship is understood. I also jokingly refer to her as my partner because we know each other so well and say I love you to each other all the time, which is how I aspire to be with all my close friends—partners in life, with whom there is no doubt about how we feel about each other and full transparency—we are free to speak our minds without fear of castigation. I digress.

    Gina is house-sitting for friends of friends at the moment. When you’re in a beautiful home, furnished with beautiful things, like granite countertops, oriental rugs, filled bookshelves and artwork on the walls, the culmination of two lives, you start to wonder—how did these people get to where they are now? I find it nearly impossible to imagine owning a house like this, as I rarely have more than a thousand dollars in my bank account (more often it is closer to $200). I will probably close my savings account soon because at this point it is just silly—I need that money to pay bills and life expenses, like this $2.25 coffee I’m drinking now at Elixr while writing this. Always wanting to live beyond my means, never within them, as if I was deserving of a more luxurious life than I was given by my working-class parents, so ignorant and foolish!

    I was looking at the couple in photos scattered about the house, and their expressions seemed relaxed, caught off guard, as if they shared a secret so sweet it perpetually lingers behind their lips. Gina shared a lovely story from her aunt’s wedding, where she met the couple. Her aunt asked them if they had advice for a lasting, fulfilling marriage. “Just don’t leave,” they said.

    Gina starts work at a temporary homeless shelter next week. She’s working the overnight shift. I have so much respect for her—not an easy job, by any means, and so much real human impact. I think my most immediate obstacle is my own pride and egoism. My preoccupation with how I do things, what other people think of my work, keeps me from doing anything at all. Focusing on helping others may just be what I need to do, in whatever capacity I can—again, bringing me back to the caretaker—but if that is where I’m most comfortable, and where I can express myself best and feel appreciated, that might not be the worst thing. Perhaps my energy is not meant to be put in a book or a song but to touch other humans through conversation.

    Janet Jackson is playing in the coffee shop right now and I am so pleased. Girl knew what was up.

    I’m not a prude
    I just want some respect
    So close the door if you want me to respond
    'Cause privacy is my middle name
    My last name is Control
    No my first name ain’t baby
    It’s Janet
    Miss Jackson if you’re nasty

    Nasty
    Nasty boys, don’t mean a thing
    Oh you nasty boys
    Nasty
    Nasty boys, don’t ever change
    Oh you nasty boys

    Edit 11:11am

    Did not plan that time, so be it. Anyway, I had a thought—I’d like to begin furnishing my inner world with ideas and things—a world I and all my iterations, or other people, don’t really inhabit. It contains my interests, fictions, pleasant fluff. A place I can go to as a visitor, without expectations. Yes, I’d like that very much.

    forgottengrin:

Nothing Ever Belonged To Me

I like this piece of art a lot. To me, it’s a pretty clear-cut jab at entitlement. When I moved back home, I was definitely more appreciative of what I had instead of angry or bitter about what I didn’t have, and though I still feel frustrated at times, I know life could be so much worse. I feel like I could have told my former bratty teenage self a thing or two.