Archive for March, 2010

un dia

March 28, 2010

i would like to kiss everyone in this video.what a great painting. and here is a picture of some fireworks in san juan:


“take the d trail down to bay parkway”

March 28, 2010

and i did and i saw the coast and the water crashing on rocks and you know how i like that. on the subway ride back i listened to this song: . i curled up by the window. i asked “is this manhattan bound?”. guy with  blue eyes said “didn’t you see the flashing red sign that said ‘manhattan’?” “what?” i responded. “yes, it is.” he was quiet and then said “you are pretty.” “what?” “i said your pretty. your eyes. beautiful brown eyes” he said. then he got off. leaning on the window i looked down at the streets below, nostalgic as CA freeway drives at night. i feel infinite on this subway, invincible. sweet comforting nostalgia of being in transit…plane  rides, drives with red lights passing, and now an orange seat back to w. 4th st. station. my toes are cold but i’m content. i got to see my atlantic ocean today and that makes it a good day. i look down on the street and i saw an orthodox jewish brooklyn, a domincan and a chinese one.  i love the moment when you are in a subway, you are moving parallel to another subway car and you make eye contact with someone before your car pulls forward and that’s the end of it. eye contact always thrills me.

“when flowers were suns”

March 27, 2010

i like listening to animal collective and sublime. it makes me feel like jello. saw this in meatpacking district and thought of you:

i knew david foster wallace

March 26, 2010

i knew him when he’d come for dinner after playing tennis and i knew him when he sobbed when his dog died and i knew him when we went out for dinner at an italian restaurant and i knew him when he’d put his cigarettes in his socks and wear jogging head bands i knew him when i went to his memorial service and put a candle by the fountain for him and i really knew him when i read his commencement speech at kenyon college. any person breathing should read it.

next up is photos by ryan mcginley: i’d like to be there:what would you title this photograph?maybe “illumination” or “this is it” or “wood, snow, and youth”. enough of ryan mcginley…now for some good old ‘i wanna be in love’ pictures:

a windy, windy, day.

March 24, 2010

-the perks of having tori as a roommate is that i get to live vicariously through her spontaneity: got to shave 1/4 of her head the other day and accompany her to get tattoos.

-so, i have noticed an unusual amount of girls come back from spring break with an orange glow (clearly, tanning booths and spray-on tans have flourished over break)

-i felt guilty about eating peanut butter and a grip of cookies and i started talking to tori about body image and societal pressures to be slim; it is a recent development that skinniness should be considered “in,” fashionable, and sexy. the female sex symbols from decade to decade have evolved drastically…..from obese to fair (greta garbo) to submissive to tan (beyonce, jlo, etc.) to thin(kate moss) to voluptuous (betty page, marilyn monroe) to busty (jayne mansfield, pam anderson) to daring (lady gaga, madonna) to weak to docile to innocent (britney spears) to foreign (penelope cruz) to dominating. a huge variety evolving throughout the time (and cultures…a whole other story). i like marlene dietrich as a sex symbol because she smoked cigarettes and challenged gender roles subtly by wearing top hats and suits.  i think the skin and bones of our generation is demeaning. and i think my favorite view of beauty and lust is from 19th century paintings…and 20th century too i suppose. the reason is because the women are so beautiful and serene, comfortable in their skin and muscle and fat and i adore this. it is natural and it is maternal and it is soft and i think very wholesome. so i rather live up to the expectation of a art. paint strokes are quite flattering anyways

pablo neruda’s ‘i explain a few things’

March 23, 2010

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?

I’ll tell you all the news.

I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.

From there you could look out
over Castille’s dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel?
Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.

And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings —
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children’s blood.

Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!

Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!

see my dead house,
look at broken Spain:
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull’s eye of your hearts.

And you’ll ask: why doesn’t his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets,
come and see
the blood in the streets,
come and see the blood
in the streets!

because i feel like retreating back to everything i learned about the spanish civil war. on completely other note:. i think it is a very photographic music video. like when beth and i watch ‘down by law’ (jim jarmusch) and always think “wow, every frame would make a beautiful photo”!

it’s cool to exist and be and its amazing to be

ive sailed the seven seas to catch a breeze, and took it back home in a trunk

March 22, 2010

quote from jamie t’s “the man’s machine”:

i met gods and mothers, women from wisconsin,

swimming in linen with another that’s not their partner

chicago, be selfish drum, on my journey i met ernie

so he spoke like al capone got drunk. OHHHH and

when it doubt, listen to the strokes.

la vida es dura pero breve

March 20, 2010

a great reminder. =life is tough but brief. my mom’s math friends at the university of salamanca used to say that all the time.

on another note, i feel desperate and anxious and i dont like it one bit!

today it is drizzly here in oxford, but an astonishing 74 degrees in the city-unbelievable! i am looking forward to going back to a city that is gritty and leafy at the same time.

i try and i try and i try

March 19, 2010

i cant get no. tununun. satisfactionnnnn.

bueno, some days i just want to go back to the 70s and 80s and be my mom:and i like her clothes.

myface and mixed trail

March 18, 2010

my mom calls facebook my face and trail mix mixed trail. ANYWAYS.

paris was amazing. so i classify it as the most romantic city i have been to but why does it suit the cliche? i guess it just has this civilized european calmness to it, the greys and browns of the natives’ clothes and the chain smokers and the black floral railings on the balconies with the white shutters. sharing a cafe aulait just seems romantic and the leisurely prim and classic life seems to match the “romantic” feel. the siene river helps to.

i forgot how much i liked goat cheese. and we ate a crepe laying on the grass gazing up at the eiffel tower! and the sun shown down!