then watch! . i do like this.
Archive for September, 2011
i want to live like this, i need to!: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/19/opinion/brooks-the-question-driven-life.html?_r=1. (“The late Richard Holbrooke used to give the essential piece of advice for a question-driven life: Know something about something. Don’t just present your wonderful self to the world. Constantly amass knowledge and offer it around.” ). i want to be self dependent. (hughes). sat in tompkins today and met a man named matt who showed me his molecule tattoos and another man named josh who told me about his grandfather’s fascination with pugs and how for halloween he’s gonna be picasso’s ‘young women of avignon’. i want to go to budapest. udon noodles. listening to ‘the babies’, brooklyn’s finest.(new yorker archives) sadye told me about how she was on the subway and a pair of stylish twin young men were discussing who’s pair of nikes were the most fly. they were both colorblind and asked her which ones looked better.
so good! here are some quotes from his book. author is norman maclean :
My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things – trout as well as eternal salvation – come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.
One of life’s quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful, even if it is only a floating ash.
I sat there and forgot and forgot, until what remained was the river that went by and I who watched. On the river the heat mirages danced with each other and then they danced through each other and then they joined hands and danced around each other. Eventually the watcher joined the river, and there was only one of us. I believe it was the river.
Undoubtedly, our differences would not have seemed so great if we had not been such a close family. Painted on one side of our Sunday school wall were the words, God Is Love. We always assumed that these three words were spoken directly to the four of us in our family and had no reference to the world outside, which my brother and I soon discovered was full of bastards, the number increasing rapidly the farther one gets from Missoula, Montana.
on unrelated note, i realized everything we do, we do to feel more alive. everything. it can be both a comforting and an isolating thing to acknowledge. these days i’ve been spending too much (debateably, just enough) time in my head. sitting, thinking: a book is a good companion.
on halloween costumes: dhruv wants to go as white face but doesn’t want to be mistaken for a mime. he and oscar suggested for me either sexy lasagna or sexy mitt romney. or sexy malia obama. a definite toss-up between the three.
other news: the new extension of the highline is beautiful, i walked by either zach or cody, don’t know but he was wearing a ponytail, and i wrote a poem quite pertinent to my relationship with boys:
he was cute
his pursed lips
GLUTEN FREE COOKIES ARE SO GOOD
this whole cd is a trip!
yesterday i met kate beaton, the creator of ‘hark! a vagrant!” and she doodled a drawing of me in her book! at the brooklyn book fair i also wanted to buy and did buy an absurd amount of zines and quirky-independent-artsy-publishing-house books and graphic novels and novellas and there were so many bearded men. it was such a good day.
annabelle and i realized the reason we eat so many vegetables every day is just because fresh produce looks so aesthetically beautiful and appealing and curious at the farmers market. all those weird shapes and textures! so i made squash carrot soup from scratch yesterday.and i got an internship at angelica-music! i will be writing upcoming events blurbs. and im a babysitter for a tribeca family now (think…uptown girls, brittany murphy)
fire escape 11.50pm sept 12:
from the fire escape we look down
and see what afros look like from above,
what cigarette smoke smells like from above,
and what giggles and cries and screams and questions sound like from up here, above.
i think i now know what god sees when he observes us. piscitelliiiiiii
cornel capa, harlem.dominique ingres. went to the frick, baked some eggplant, walked by 911 memorial at a fire station and am reading lots of susan sontag and roland barthes on photography. it’s making me wonder: what does it mean to TAKE a photograph? a photo as art vs. document? does a photo tell the truth? is it a passive art, a spectator sport? do we invent our identity when we pose? who does a photograph belong to, and more importantly, who deserves the merit for a “good” photo-the photographer for capturing and witnessing an instant, the objects in the frame for exhisting? i dont know!
my mother never made me pb&js. they are disgusting, they are for soccer moms who don’t have time (or, rather, don’t dedicate their time) to preparing a decent meal for their kids. they are very sticky, they are very gooey, they are too sweet. they are american.
my mother never went by ‘mom’ or ‘mommy’ when i was young, or now. it’s solely ‘mama’.
my mother always kisses my cheeks with frantic glee and giddy excitement when i fly to spain to see her. in the airport of la coruna people stare at us as she yells “olaya! mi preciosa, mi foquita!” (foquita means ‘little seal’, my mother has always called me this).
i don’t want you to think she is a hearty bosomy saucy spanish woman because she is not. she’s not like a die-hard opinionated woman resentful of the US or her accent or any of that, she just wanted me to be healthy and happy so she never made me pb&js.