Thursday, December 31, 2009

I wish I had known in that first minute we met

the first time in ages I've felt like writing in my journal, I was thinking about new years eve 2009 and how I was different. Physically more empty and mentally more depressed. For one I was sans tattoo but avec a drawing on my wrist! Perhaps that will become a reality this year?

My bed has lit up but now again feels lonely. But I feel a new respect for "me" coming into the picture. The sort of " I want to do good for myself" while I'm on this earth. For some reason I used to think i wouldn't make it that long. Perhaps that's why I yearn for deep relationships but don't always see the worth in bothering to invest in them in the present. I sometimes forget that people have feelings and occasionally I do too and that I have the power to effect others. It might be a matter of recognizing when it's meant to be and when it is selfishly serving someone else's needs. Resolution '10? Who knows, it doesn't always take a new year to change, for I feel the change beginning already.

Until next year...

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.


Tuesday, December 22, 2009


It is painful to visit a relative you love, but hardly know except through ancient stories and the few experiences you've had over the 24 years together. The Christmases and Thanksgivings, and summer vacations that you spend together fail to clarify their personalities. But when you see them hurting its hard to not feel for them as you would your best friend. Harder even when you realize their sadness is out of pure loneliness; for who wants to be alive after the love of their life has left this world? The one they spent 50+ years with without a wince, with trials and tribulations that I will never hear about but that clearly didn't matter enough because they stuck it out.

What overwhelms me more that the solid loneliness that I want to take away from her is the familiar (and yes, selfish) commiseration with the feeling of love-despite-it-all. I never thought i'd even experience love, much less believe in it, but what gets me is the power of it all. She spent more than ten years witnessing him as a different person, an anxiety-ridden, clueless, forgetful man who lived in the body of her long-time love.

And to this day, she misses him. She knows him not as that man, but as the man she married half a century ago. She misses the man she married, the man she had 2 girls with, and the man who retired to allow them to travel the world. That is what strikes me as the most beautiful kind of love.

but i can't tell her that. i don't know how to tell her i admire her, and that i find her to be incredibly strong. I don't know how to be anything but a five year old around her because she didn't change with me since. I can't connect and I can't console, and I can't figure out why.

i yearn for days when jeff buckley makes it all better, while making it all worse as i discuss my loves made and lost with my love child.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

it's not that i'm procrastinating, but it's that i'm waiting for inspiration to strike. hopefully it will soon.

"never turn down an invitation" my friend once told me, and now i've decided to take his advice. which means that a brunch can turn into a day long affair with museums, and champagne and dinner and wine. it's not ideal for getting into my zone, but these are the moments i can't stand to pass up. so with this impending social schedule and drunk nights and hazy hangovers that are sure to come with this new social mantra, when will i have time to create?

i feel like its all pending. like the beach ball is spinning and at any moment it will turn into a regular cursor and say Go! You're Ready! You've Got It!
until then, dear friends...

Friday, November 27, 2009

its a family affair

i can't go into detail.
i am lost. i am alone.

that necklace started rejecting my body. just like the porcelain ring, i will have to throw it out.
i dont want to.

this song is sexy.

Sly and the Family Stone - Family Affair
that is all.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

rip daul kim

ny magazine is reporting that daul kim has passed away.

she had a beautiful blog.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Sunday, November 8, 2009

"...but we didn't realize that the heroes, or anti-heroes of the French existentialist novels we read were not supposed to be realistic. We tried to imitate them, mistaking metaphorical descriptions of complex modes of feeling for straightforward prescriptions of behavior. We duly felt the right anguishes."

"The truth was that I was not a cynic by nature; only by revolt. I had got away from what I hated, but I hadn't found where I loved, and so I pretended there was nowhere to love. Handsomely equipped to fail, I went out into the world."

"I re-evaluated myself. I saw that I was from now on, forever, contemptible. I had been, and remained, intensely depressed, but I had also been, and always would be, intensely false; in existentialist terms, unauthentic."

from The Magus, by John Fowles

Friday, November 6, 2009

Saturday, October 31, 2009

I am sitting alone, listening to one of those songs that makes you feel cold inside, at one of those coffee shops that tries to make you feel warm inside wondering when I am going to feel good about everything, and if I even want to feel good about anything.

I am sitting on a stool that is a perfect height and I am wearing a sweater that makes me feel perfectly toasty with its over the top fur collar and sparkly clasp. It is halloween. Did I say I was alone? I feel it deep down, a loneliness that reaches past my sweet sweater, through my bra-less chest and inside every irregular heartbeat.

I feel a conscious change, an indescribable shift in most parts of me. It is all rushing by me as I sit and think and watch and feel sorry for myself. I am a laughing cynic, an alert space cadet, and a starving glutton who can't figure out what to hate, what to appreciate, and what to fill up with.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

from that astral plane.


"every night i tell myself that i am the cosmos"

i feel a little bit lost these days. not sure what to do with my time, not sure what my "homework" should be anymore. I have a goal in mind, but it almost seems unreachable. It was easier then. Then, when I didn't know what I wanted. It was easier to be told what my plans could be for the night. To express interest in what I wanted and to have someone else make a move, to have someone else pull the strings and to have them tell me it would be a good time.

Because then I could offer myself in a different way. I could give advice, I could help him not feel so lost, and in the process, not feel so lost myself. I never thought of myself as a giver, but I turned into one for a short time. A bitchy, selfish, unrelenting giver who took just as much. But I realize now that I took it all for granted. Of course its a learning experience. Of course I don't regret it all in the end, but I do feel sad that its gone for good.

But I'm managing, don't get me wrong. It feels better when I've earned it myself; whatever it is that I earn daily. I just can't help but feel, uh, reminiscent? Is that the word? Lonely? Sure. But its not just loneliness, its progress. It's learning more about myself, recognizing the shitty ways I dealt with feeling insecure and inadequate. I'm beginning to feel less inadequate, but now who do I share it with? Who do I commiserate with? I work best with a give and take, and I have people to give to, and people to take from, but it feels better when one can offer both. I miss it, and I want it back, but its not my place to ask anymore.

So I'll wait. I'll take my photos looking Nathan of Wavves in the eye, hoping I could give something that might make his show seem more meaningful. I'll write those emails, hawking my "talents" to the magazines I admire, and I'll dream the dreams I have since 4th grade with my Vogue-plastered school binders. But I hope that you'll feel the same way, that its not worth giving up on.

I want to undo the damage.
I'll take it easy. And be patient.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

now i understand how, even the things you want to do can become a pain.

[voila, my coffee table/to do-or-read-or-write list]

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

its strange when you begin to realize that you can't decipher what is good and bad for you. vices that make you say too much, smoke that makes your teeth hurt, and friends that fail to have your best interests in mind. they're so wonderfully predictable; at least you sort of know what you're going get.

what about the things that aren't so predictable. the new people who you're scared to let in, and the things that continue to peak your interest til you can't quite decide whether to let go or hang on. some connections are intangible, some literally are missing parts of the senses. is it wrong to let them slip away on account of miscommunication? because though intangible, they are the most interesting, the things to live by and to live for. with these people it becomes clear that the guard you built up lacks the safety it used to boast.

you just keep getting closer, and i don't know if it's good or bad for me.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

is "blissfully unaware" the right way to describe it?
does that make sense to you?
now i know that for me that being busy equals avoiding things.
work all day, flip from smart to big mouth to slacker,
come home, play dress-up, paint my lips
and leave again.

i act my age but when do I stop?
when do I tire, or take a step up?
or wash my dishes and shine my shoes?
theres not enough thinking time.
not enough "15 step" and (nice dream) and electioneering
instead its small talk over champagne and hugs and cheek kisses

which is all okay,
i just need my token mellow friday night and saturday day to catch up on it all.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

yep, that looks about right.

its weird that looking back at my listening habits over the past year can actually create a timeline of moments, a literal soundtrack to those big and small moments that were so impactful...

Radiohead- it was my saving grace, my its okay to feel, my secretly cry at my desk.
"(Nice Dream)" - The Bends

Red Hot Chili Peppers- this was and is my most recent, 2nd of 2 musical obsessions. the only band i let into my life and my heart for a solid month, and i have yet to wake up one morning since without one of their songs in my head. i miss them already.
"Suck My Kiss" - Blood Sugar Sex Magik

Bon Iver- i need to be haunted, for its okay to be in this introspective mood. i might tap my foot or tear up, but its always cold. and nice.
"Re:Stacks" - For Emma, Forever Ago

Mystery Jets - what is a girl to do when she spends the evening, night and morning with these guys. call it love or blame it on the blow, my life was changed that night.
"Flakes" - Twenty One

Little Joy [replacing with Human Highway] - it may seem mellow to most, but this was my scream at the top of my lungs, let it all out exiting the 101 into downtown soundtrack.
"The Sound" - Moody Motorcycle

Broken Social Scene- came to me when i was most broken. swimmers and lovers spit, i am so happy i found this band.
"Lover's Spit" - You Forgot It In People

Royksopp- royksopp forever was my epic filler.
"Royskopp Forever" - Junior

Metric - see BSS, but now I got to get angry.
"Gold, Guns, Girls" - Fantasies

Miike Snow - I came back to happy. To Black & Blue and Silvia, and epic car rides and it was all on my own!
"Black & Blue" - Miike Snow

Justice - sure fire toe-tap at work, even years later.

D.R.I. [replacing with Kings of Leon] - well, really just one song - Use Somebody. That song, remixed, or not, is fantastic.
"Use Somebody" - Only By the Night

Deerhunter- a phase. [replacing with Waaves/Vetiver] - waaves vetiver, i bought these albums on the same day, and they represent the calm and anger i feel pretty much everyday. the angst and what-the-fuck and ahhh-why-me of "So Bored", plus the thoughtful contentness of "Everyday", i listened to these albums as an activity, not as a soundtrack to one. Just got confirmed to photograph wavves next weekend, can't wait to see what all of the live-show-hype is about.

Amy Winehouse- anytime.
"You Know I'm No Good" - Back to Black

Heartless Bastards- if i keep smoking, or rather, when i get older i'd like to have the rasp, the attitude, and the wisdom of this voice. its grit and grime and utter confidence is just rock and roll and shes just got me wrapped around her finger.
"Sway" - The Mountain

The Raveonettes- eternal fan, Bang! was on repeat for a good solid week, while love in a trashcan, lust, aly walk with me, my boyfriend's back, and twilight are general staples.
"Bang!" - In and Out of Control

okay i am officially bored of this, not going to read over.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

notes from the otherside

For the record, i would like to state, that prior to September 1, 2009, my knowledge of the Red Hot Chili Peppers was paltry at best. Sure, Californication, Under the Bridge, and Give it Away crossed my path thanks to the reigning "alternative" radio stations of the 90s and the surprisingly "grunge" taste of my grade school classmates (at a strict private school, mind you), but this band never held a spot in my heart like Lauryn Hill did. Never did I make the trip to Tower Records to pick up a copy of Blood Sugar Sex Magik after school in 2nd grade. The RHCP fan-girl persona seemed to be an absent part of my fate.

A chance meeting between me and a copy of Scar Tissue, Anthony Kiedis' quick-and-dirty memoir documenting his evolution from goofball California pothead street kid to "serious" musician, I attached whatever brain activity was lingering in my head at the time to full-on rockstar obsession, studying this intriguing group of characters. Aware only of the Chili Peppers' mainstream and industry success musically, Anthony Kiedis' modelizer past and present and Flea's naked antics, I made it 24 years in this world virtually unaware.

Let me just say, I will not claim to appreciate RHCP based upon John Frusciante's "radical ability to shred" or the "funky soul x rock and roll" musical innovations. It all started rather superficially.

Yes, I am a woman, and thoroughly intrigued by Kiedis' sexual freedom and spiritual passion for all that is my species, I was initially hooked on taking a piece of his spirit from reading the book. But what is a girl to do when suddenly, she goes from hipstering out, listening to Girls and The Raveonettes new albums to rocking out to Blood Sugar Sex Magik on her car stereo. Blasting it at full volume I ingest the almost laughable baritone words AK exhales. "Girl please me, be my soul bride" quickly followed by a full on head-bashing get-in-my-pants-now "blood sugar, baby, shes magik, sex magik", I could not and still cannot, get enough. A full-on, diehard convert, I'm drinking the Kool-Aid, chugging down every cup of horny-thoughtful-soul-fuck-sex-love RHCP juice I can get my hands on. It's in my head, on my ipod and saturating my being.

Starting with Blood Sugar Sex Magik, on to By the Way, One Hot Minute, and Californication, I have just scratched the surface as far as discography goes, but have preoccupied myself with a tour-de-youtube scouring the internet for pieces of history I was unable to experience with my lack of MTV and, well, my born-too-late-to-appreciate situation. I'll admit that my pre-teen years were filled with visions of Zach Morris and Kelli Kapowski, sadly devoid of Anthony Kiedis' bare chested humpfest.

I am all at once turned on, turned off, obsessed, and frightened by their lifestyle; for it is easy to love it on paper, less easy to live through 20 years of addiction, tortured friendships and abundant sexual opportunity. The more I study them the less I become focused on AK's sexual energy or John Frusciante's long hair; the spirit of these men is enough to carry me for, well, apparently a good solid 2 weeks so far.

Delving into this band's cast of characters, I have become fascinated on a personal level, notably by guitarist John Frusciante. He stimulates my psyche in terms of creative output, both educating me on the effects of massive drug-intake and the beautiful product that results from such activity. Respectful of the individual turmoil and destruction of this period of his life, I selfishly take it into my being as a beautiful reminder of the human mind. I am dosed by his raw uninhibited energy, the eerily perfect gift he gave by documenting verbally and musically this journey he was meant to have, feeling as though I can experience it on some other level through him.

While I may be destructive in other ways, I strive to write a line like
Folding pain tightly so it knows what it means,
for its silent vowels to be all that bleeds,
like me it knows the sides,
and of what it means to keep trying

Cause I’m a pretend me,
And I’m real cause I can hit me softly,
and bleed blood I can hear,
Cause I’m here now

Cryptically unintelligible, I can appreciate the rhythm and honesty in which he speaks throughout the eerie short film made by Johnny Depp touring his artfully trashed Hollywood Hills home. I feel a tiny bit of his pain and relate it to my insecurities and lost search for how I will eventually unearth the knowledge I ingest on a daily basis. For it doesn't get more real than being out of your mind, and to be out of your mind while free of substances is another challenge altogether.

Dismiss me as a straight up fan-girl, but I think that everything comes to us for a reason, and this band currently and consistently consumes my mind as a way to improve myself and to be in touch with the reality of everything around me. To say what I mean, to be content with silence and to leave the meaningless behind. To adopt a playful seriousness, and to absorb and internalize the wonderful beings I encounter everyday; not to take advantage, but to simply take it all in, so that I can in turn regurgitate it uniquely without inhibition, thoughtfully injecting inspiration where needed. To take the mundane and to keep trying.

Monday, September 21, 2009


from jak and jil alexander wang 10
I was hesitant,
Is it wrong to be hesitant?
Once again hesitation was holding me back,
Not him, not the girl checking names,

I turned it off,
that so-called rational thinking,
and walked into the tent,
got my card and took my seat,
who, me?

horn, thump, im no joan didion,
ill be the one, the one that might,
cry at the sight and sound of
all of it, yes thats right
me, cry.

it was a taste,
a tiny dip in the pool
of my future, can't wait,
its there, a sip of future addiction,
me, high.

haven't come down yet.

Friday, September 18, 2009


i want my cup filled,
i want my heart punched,
and my ears drowned in music.

i want to talk to you,
i want that book to read,
and just another hour away from home.

snort it sip it puff it touch it,
call me touch me text me love me.

what am i looking for

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

a "star birth". how radical.
from NASA

where are you

Feeling Fucked Up
by Etheridge Knight

Lord she’s gone done left me done packed / up and split
and I with no way to make her
come back and everywhere the world is bare
bright bone white crystal sand glistens
dope death dead dying and jiving drove
her away made her take her laughter and her smiles
and her softness and her midnight sighs—

Fuck Coltrane and music and clouds drifting in the sky
fuck the sea and trees and the sky and birds
and alligators and all the animals that roam the earth
fuck marx and mao fuck fidel and nkrumah and
democracy and communism fuck smack and pot
and red ripe tomatoes fuck joseph fuck mary fuck
god jesus and all the disciples fuck fanon nixon
and malcolm fuck the revolution fuck freedom fuck
the whole muthafucking thing
all i want now is my woman back
so my soul can sing

Monday, September 7, 2009

I start by saying, I don't feel sorry for myself. And I don't feel sorry for you.

I feel sorry that I can't reconcile this. That I can come to terms with almost everything in my life except for this. I can reunite with everyone else, I can think, with a clear head about my next steps, about my hopes and my desires. That I can make friends and keep them. That I can try something different and that I can be alone.

But I cannot close this. I cannot speak to anyone the same way, feel comfortable with anyone else the same way. I cannot stop thinking about it, and cannot understand why it was the only thing that made me feel real, and outside of myself. That besides then, I have not once in my life felt unselfishly sad. A type of sad that has yet to exist inside of me again, one that hit me so deeply inside of my heart that it could not escape me. Instead it sat in the pit of my stomach replacing food, replacing reality. My literal hunger was replaced with a driven, sad calm.

There are many things to be said.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

song for me

I bought the album as if I had a record player to play it on. As if there were no distractions.

I put it in my stereo, put my headphones on, laid back with my arms up on the couch, and closed my eyes, listening. I was taking myself back to a time. Back to a time where I would never live, to a place where I had a pile of carpets and maybe even a fireplace. A place where I would lay on the floor on a pile of pillows. (They would have tassles on all four corners) And I would lay alone, my only goal to listen to the Byrds or to Gram Parsons all night long. Eyes still closed I would imagine the times I had read about them in the paper, or perhaps even met them. Satisfaction and happiness would wash over me, for I appreciated every strum, note, and lyric. And every letter that streamed out was spoken only to me, entering my ears, down my throat and into my stomach, sitting there digesting, sending the blood up into my heart. Simplicity at its most fulfilling.

My mind wanders between now and then, between the past that was never my past, and the present that isn't really my present either. But for now, the sound makes it start to feel like it is.

"So take me down to your dance floor / And I won´t mind the people when they stare / Paint a different color on your front door / And tomorrow we will still be there"

Thursday, August 27, 2009

apparently i'm late to the game on watching this, but i'm re-in-love with this song. the video is just perfect and complements the song, highlighting the bits and pieces that add up to make it so great.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

the massage

Someone often told me, "if it works, its obsolete".

Few wise words have be drilled into me as much as those McLuhans, and they come to mind at this moment as I feel so utterly out of whack, so out of touch with all of the things that I'm feeling. I realize that I have chosen to be borderline content. To forgo wracking my brain to get to the root of it, choosing instead to blissfully huff along. I have taken to distracting myself with shiny objects, home projects and planned trips out of this repetitive city.

There are interesting new people, there are places to go, and maps to route out, but I feel no desire to experience them. I'd rather sit with my semi-sibs watching food network til 4am salivating over the corn paella and sea urchin flan than hit up that same-ole party. I might like that bartender, but I'll just wave as I walk up to my apartment while he tries to mouth something to me through the window.

I'm more content with being alone again. Sometimes it's almost too much effort to invest in these places and these restaurants and these jobs. My apartment never says the wrong thing or bugs me; the streets of downtown never get tired or stump me with awkward silence, and my own company rarely causes me anxiety.

Alas, I also realize that my apartment doesn't make me laugh, and the streets of downtown certainly do not teach me about mind control or space conspiracy and will not be around to try to figure out vanilla sky with me.

I need the contact again. Not the live-in contact which eventually did become obsolete, but I need the friendship, the companionship, and the person to fucking talk it out with. I want it back.

Friday, August 14, 2009

part two.

On the second night, I left my zone again, traveling away from my downtown everyday, my job, my collection of tea and my organized dishes; I was leaving comfortable for the canyon. Upon my arrival I was greeted with hugs and waves and kisses, all from one new friend and was led to a bungalow covered in vines and through one of those beautiful doors. The kind that hardly has a lock, dark forest green wood with window panes and a tiny doorknob. The room was filled with candle light and the smell of sage, the walls lined with books.

I sat down in front of a man with a young face, and old, eyeliner-rimmed eyes filled with jaded experience. He wore a thousand bracelets, and twice as many necklaces. I later noticed two long dreadlocks flopping down his back, as long as an old mans beard and then some. He was to be our tour guide for the night, telling stories over countless cigarettes and swigs of Jim Beam whiskey. I wondered briefly if I was back in the 60s Laurel Canyon, talking about the kind of life things I have yet to experience and astrology and our bodies. I was in the company of some of those educated types who don't have it together, the ones who get evicted, who subsist on whiskey and coke, and who look back on their past successes and failures with seemingly no regret and only stories that beg to be passed on. The kind of men who love women, and while maybe trying to sleep with you, they back off upon hearing you're "someone else's girl" for that night.

I struggled early on in the night as an outsider, wondering why I was there, why these characters were accepting me into their fucked up world, telling me the most intimate details of their lives all the while complementing me and touching my hair and asking nothing in return. i soon let it all go and gave in to the night.

I was in a foreign country, and I loved every uncomfortable minute.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I want to write about tonight specifically because it was just so generally blasé. Neither good nor bad I felt both inside and outside of the scene. For once I was fairly impressed with the sartorial choices that LA brought to this particular party, and I was met with familiar gorgeous faces with whom I conversed, though briefly, amongst the aural goodness that Busy P, Sebastian Tellier and crew brought to the table.

Perhaps its a sign, a sign that I have overcome L.A. That I have taken all I need from it. Because, I know the people there that I want to know, I danced with the best of them, and even recruited some to the blue screen dance floor up on the 8th floor Roosevelt room sanctioned off for an upcoming exhibition.

A lovely Brit who reminded me of a friend I still hold dear brought it into a strange perspective.

Why was this night not "cool"? Why am I so unsatisfied? It's fucking LA for godsakes, and I am surrounded by actual INTERESTING people! Not the kind who feign coolness - the kind who dress up in their finest Forever21 and Louboutins and pretend they are wearing CDG with said Louboutins! I mean, actual card carrying filmmakers who are working towards something.

Perhaps my gin and tonics were not doing the trick, but for 13 bucks a pop I need them to offer me some hazy goodness!
Alas, LA, you might be slipping from my grips. My current craziness and unhappiness might be in reaction to you. A trip is in order, and dear blog you will be the first to hear about it. Relocation '10.

on a lovelier note. j'adore les FENDI stripper shoes:

Monday, August 10, 2009

I want to be adopted.

No, not like that. I'm good with my parents, love the sibs, etc etc. I want to be adopted by a man. If anything, when it comes to me and the opposite sex, I claim to be independent, a loner, a pre-spinster-aged spinster. I live alone, I work alone, and generally, I feel safe alone. But lately I feel very different.

I miss my old friend. I miss having a local partner in crime. And I have finally come to terms with the idea that I want and need to be rescued.

I want you to see me walking alone on the street.
I want you to come up to me, to invite me to your friend's party.
I want you to tell me to stop by your store to see the new pieces you've designed or the film you're working on.
I want to be hugged and to be caught before I faint.
I want to be led blindly through this city, to new places with new people.
I want you to teach me things, tell me your favorite stories and touch my hair while doing it.
I want you to take my hand, and walk me down the steepest hill, looking up at me as I look down at the ground hoping not to slide and slip in my ballet slippers.
I want to be okay with the silence, but to fill it up with laughter when you joke.
Most of all, I want to feel loved, to feel important, and to be okay with you.
1. a restraining action or influence: freedom from restraint.
2. Sometimes, restraints. a means of or device for restraining, as a harness for the body.
3. the act of restraining, holding back, controlling, or checking.
4. the state or fact of being restrained; deprivation of liberty; confinement.
5. constraint or reserve in feelings, behavior, etc.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

this is too much.

"I enjoy inventing things out of fun. After all, life is a game, not a career" - Brion Gysin

Saturday, July 25, 2009

its nice when you happen upon an old friend, and everything that kept them from being great is seemingly gone. so you just be and its like the old days except better because he can ramble off artists instead of south park quotes and politics instead of bong hits and there is nicer wine involved and his hair looks great, and you just feel the love again.

tonight. hearts.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


no. words. jil sander.

Monday, July 20, 2009

i am a passenger.

I've been recently obsessed with all that is Laurel Canyon in the 1960s and 70s. Namely, all that is british invasion/rock-and-roll/folk/pop-ish of those decades. But not just the music; that is only 10 percent of this time's appeal. For its all about the personalities.

Being a slightly obsessive people watcher/listener/student, I am naturally drawn to this era of womens lib, not for feminist reasons but rather for behavioral reasons. Reading about the "groupies" of the time, reminiscent of the Penny Lane character in Almost Famous, which is arguably based upon girl-about-town (groupie) Pamela des Barres, I have become not only fascinated, but impressed by their drive.

The term "groupie" tends to have a negative connotation, at least in my mind, describing those women who are desperately driven to flirt with rock stars who may or may not remember their name the next day. Being a self proclaimed groupie at times (several occasions come to mind a la mystery jets, klaxons and shout out louds, among others) I understand the appeal of getting to know these untouchable rockstars for a night. Maybe it spills into more nights, facebook messages, chance meetings in downtown speakeasies, or nothing at all, but its certainly an exhilarating experience! We admire these men and women from afar, digesting and chewing and spitting out their music and lyrics; getting to know them brings it to a new level. In my experience, these musicians can be everything you think and more. Sharing late nights and acoustic performances in hotel rooms complete with the requisite booze and drugs, I've gotten the opportunity to meet some amazing people. Some of the most amazing people out there! Taking risks in order to do what they love!

But I've gotten off on a cheese-oid tangent now.

After spending the past week among those who would skip an adventure any day for the security of love and marriage, I began to wonder, what makes me different from them. Why would I, hands down, no question choose a fleeting night of amazing conversation, of possible let down or hazy thoughtfulness in lieu of security. Pamela des Barres, head groupie of the 60s and 70s, and paramour to the top men of the era (yes, I'm talking the likes of Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger, members of the Byrds, and probably any notable musician of the time), sought this kind of security in a seemingly backward way.

She is quoted saying "The other factor was that I was growing up in the Sixties. I had watched my Mom be the Fifties Mom, the slave Mom...this was the era of free love and women's lib. I wanted to be the Fifties Mom, the slave Mom. I wanted to really fall in love one day. But I believed it would be liberating and pleasurable in the meantime to have sex and to fall 1/2in love one have sex whenever I wanted it - like men."

She eventually married one of these untouchables, had a child with him, and is now separated from him. She's an extreme case, and it seems she has yet to become this head-over-heels-in-love, ring-on-your-finger-forever, slave-mom she described, but maybe she never wanted it for herself. I'm assuming a lot here, but I wonder if we have to choose an extreme. A life of crazy one night stands, or a life of stability and dinner on the table.

I think we are missing out by choosing one over the other. By choosing one, we become passenger seat drivers. We dwell upon what we are gaining or missing out on, therefore losing control of the wheel, giving up the drivers seat, and drifting towards the middle of nowhere.

phillip lim resort 10

i never looked at this in june
of course i like it!

uh how weird is it that i typed 10. as in 2010. yeah.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

a week away puts things in perspective. or not.
thick accents and y'alls and marriage and babies, thank god i'm away from it 350 out of 365ish.

days of sun and sea breezes and nights of humid beer...pong? and life conversations and talks of others' long distance relationships, their 6 month old loves

realizations of addictions to... life? texts and instant messages, and where does this leave me? where it take us? its all unknown but its all clear to me now.

finished novels and new ones begun, finished crushes and new ones in the works its all a blur and all a memory i want to forget.

alone is the way i prefer these days, everything else tends to be a let down. so ill sit here bingeing on lady gaga to forget about all of the things I have to do and the people I'm supposed to see and the ones I can't seem to forget about.

it's sort of a mess in my head that I don't care to clean up right now.

Friday, July 10, 2009

i was living in some dream world where i thought it would be okay, but its not okay!
its never okay, but its supposed to be okay!

old age or serenity or something is supposed to make it all okay but i dont want to wait!

seeing him and seeing them, i just don't know what to say anymore except,

im different.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

viva la couture.

christian dior fall couture.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

brief encounters

It started with a chance meeting while "out on the town" in this city that sucks away my sleep on a nightly basis. On a night when the bars and parties closed their doors and no one was ready for it to end, not ready for real life to start again the next morning. When the cigarettes begin to run out and the booze is tapped from hidden cabinets where it seemed to wait on reserve for a night like this.

I feel most alive on these nights. I feel most in control, most out of control, my heart beating faster as I laugh and forget about my tangled hair and disappearing makeup as the sun rises on the most beautiful of terraces in a beautiful city.

I entered the compound in the hills for a night; an alternate universe I knew would be ephemeral. So I soaked it in, trying to remember names, faces and the architecture as best I could. Everyone was interesting; everyone was a character working towards something, but living to interact with everyone around them. To me, they exist only to tell their stories, however outlandish and exaggerated they may be.

Monday, June 29, 2009


Am I completely wrong to believe that we are all just fooling ourselves in one way or another? In friendships and relationships we are make-believing, faking it, or enjoying the blissful ignorance.

With friends, we love and hug and make believe that we are just oh-so-compatible, when in reality, they might be all we have to choose from. We laugh and feign interest and forgive and forget those things they do to us when, who am I kidding, I will totally not forget. I'll cheers to this and that look you in the eye, but behind your back I'll judge you and resent you and uhh, make plans with you again? You can be my best friend, my last resort, and my drinking buddy any day of the week. We'll go to shows and openings and to Barney's, but I'll be thinking of someone else or maybe that I'd rather be there alone instead of stuck trying to pretend you're giving me something you're not. But sure, I appreciate you! I care for you!

In relationships, we also love and hug and make believe that we are just oh-so-compatible, when in reality, we are making them into what we need. We flirt and talk fashion and books and dreams, but you'll never encourage me enough, not like he did. You'll never open up enough to let me know you, or else you'll frustrate me with your stupid hair or your flamboyant mannerisms. You'll offer me a ride, but I'll decline. I'd rather walk than give you the wrong idea. I'll make a b-line to the nearest subway stop to avoid another he-and-she situation. But what the hell did he do? He annoyed me, challenged me, entertained me and made me miserable. Nostalgia is that blissful ignorance, for it covers up the bad, the unhappy, the crazy and the messy. The fights resulting in car rides cut short, and late night book throwing sessions. But sure, in the aftermath, I'll remember you fondly!

Thursday, June 25, 2009

los angeles, im yours.

It's fitting that i hear a live band/group of people outside of my window singing "los angeles, I'm yours", you know, that Decembrists gem, that thanks to lame-ass Apple DRM i am currently unable to listen to. Regardless, tonight was one of those times I wish I had an ipod with me. For certainly the Decembrists could have offered a superior soundtrack to this inadequate night.

I shouldn't say that.

Had I gone home as planned, with my ride, it would have been inadequate. Instead, I chose to give myself a near heart attack by deciding to take the subway, and then upon arriving at said subway stop, I realized it had quite literally stopped for the night, so I returned to the scene of my crime to attempt to catch a ride. After an accidental hug from Devendra Banhart (sans-beard I must divulge), and a boring conversation from some member of Chairlift, my search was again, inadequate, and I decided it was up to the cab-driving gods to get me to the next subway stop which I figured could quite possibly be open.

A short phone call later I got fed up with waiting and flagged down a cab on the side of Hollywood Blvd. who refused to take a credit card. "Cash only," he said, as I waved my card in his face, offering to cough up the 30 something bucks it would potentially cost me to make it to downtown LA. He held his ground, but upon realizing I was a true damsel-in-distress, this cab driver informed me of a 24 hour bus that left only once per hour from Santa Monica and Vine. He offered to chauffeur me there for no cost. (I was truly cash-less). We pulled up right as the bus was stopping, and with a quick honk of his horn I was out of the cab and onto the bus. He was truly my life-saver, and demanded no money. Friendly souls do exist in LA!

Long story short, after what seemed like hundreds of stops, I made it to 4th and Hill on this miracle bus that allowed me to only pay 73 cents I could dig out of my change purse. Twas indeed a fulfilling night, for who needs a ride when you can have an adventure!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

the grid, vol 2.

since I can't seem to keep a tangible inspiration board going, I'll make the effort with round 2 of the grid.

1. Fendi Spring ads. Pink hair, loove it. Need it.
2. Tilt-shift photography. Makes everything look like a miniature model. I love this look - I think Uniqlo used this effect for the film in their calendar.
3. Promo picture from the set of Bewitched circa 1960-something? Love the saturated colors, patterns, and overall busyness of the room.
4. Artwork found from the flickr page of Pitta Patta
5. Karen O at Sasquatch via Stereogum
6. Kate Moss and Pete Doherty recreating the mug shots of infamous murderers Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. I always wonder what my mugshot would look like.
7. There is something about this "rock star family" that is so sexy to me. Man on tour, back from the road to greet his wife dressed in couture walking their baby on the property. Nicole Richie et al from Bazaar.
8. Barack Obama! Photo by Lisa Jack from 1980. He looks so rad.
9. This is the photo I think I would most like to own. Kate Moss by Juergen Teller. So amazing, and that hair!
10. Carmen Kass, one of my all-time-favorite models.
11. Rad wedge platforms from Finsk
12. Aristotle quote, unknown poster.
13. Model dolls. Givenchy Fall 08, chainsssss.
14. Thread art. New form of napkin doodling?
15. My dear friend styled this beauty in Chanel Haute Couture for the Transformers 2 premiere. She looks amazing, and check out the dress!
16. My techno life is now exponentially less-ugly

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


via hedi slimane.

and girl talk.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

in the emotional highs department...

This is life.
It can start with a piece of gum, with a gin and tonic, or with a guy's ponytail.
It can start anytime and anywhere, and you have to be there to notice it. I'm sick of analyzing things NEGATIVELY, of noting the movement of relationships and people and of thoughts of embarrassment. It's time to let it all go. To go places, to see shows, to meet people; to be anti-socially social.

You see, its better than "fuck-it-all" because its less detached. I put myself out there, or I don't. Either way I get more of what I want.


stella mccartney
im providing this past post as a recording for myself to truly know how i felt when i wrote it.
Collect the Love That I've Been Given"

Saturday, June 20, 2009

collect the love that i've been given

I'm attempting to digest everything that I have felt in the past few days.
Emotionally high and middle and low.

It's the strangest feeling when you say goodbye to and old love that you haven't spoken to in months, but you still think of as one of those "life" friends. One of those people that made a dent, that you probably will not forget for a long time if ever. Doing that was like, having an exorcism or something; everything just comes out. Old nicknames, too-long-hugs, tears, books and "remember this", and "that was weird", and "why the fuck did we date." It's exhausting but its good; good to know that we are sort of on the same page, and that its done, our chapter of LA life that ended months ago is actually over.

Moving on is easy enough to do at this point, but how do you balance moving on and just straight up forgetting. I was left with a bag of "parting gifts", thrown together in a drunken haze and given to me. Upon opening this bag only today, it was like a precisely edited bag of our overlapped lives. DVDs of movies we saw in theater, talked about, saw separately, or that I posted on this very blog. A magazine made of newsprint from '06 that inspired me to create my portfolio in newsprint. It's crazy how fittingly curated this last-ditch no-effort bag was. But what do I do with these things?

I asked him, when do you think all of the things we see and find won't remind us of people in our current (and now past) lives? Is it like, 2 years? 5 years? 10 years? Never? I guess its until we have new experiences revolving around these things with other people. I don't know if he had an answer, but its somewhat daunting to have these memories. I love these memories, but for how long will the Klaxons make me think of running down Wilshire Blvd. filming the band with old friends. How long will St. Vincent make me think of sitting in a hot Suzuki in downtown LA sweating my face off but feeling love and joy and that smell of hot air! The same goes for blue Helmut Lang dresses, street posters, photobooths, my kitchen table, Andy Warhol, Michael Pitt, french presses, the MOCA and so many things I think about. These are the people attached to everything in my life.

I've chosen to be sentimental! To keep these things with me, in my head, in my heart, in my sense of smell, in my fingers. And I can't help but stow them away, only for those times when you need to remember. I'll skip St. Vincent on my iTunes to preserve the smell I feel when it comes on. My stacks of photobooth pictures stay in drawers unless I need to remember what he or she looked like. It's preservation, and maybe it's not healthy but its how I roll.

Friday, June 12, 2009

phoebe philo is back

for celine.


Wednesday, June 10, 2009


posted on of these shoes before, but how amazing are the boots.

Monday, June 8, 2009

wisdom vs. life experience

David Lynch created his "Interview Project" traveling across America interview people along the way. They have alot to offer in terms of wisdom and life experience and interesting stories and personalities, and everything. Toothless, transvestite, and funny, the stories so far are kind of awesome. I wish they were longer.

He's releasing one every few days over the next year.
Tune in.

1992 meets 2009?

rumor has it that tonight zach morris will be appearing on late night with jimmy fallon?

you can bet I'll be tuning in.

in my opinion,

more men should have this haircut.
joseph gordon levitt, for VMan

Monday, June 1, 2009

really like this album from Miike Snow.
especially this track.

Miike Snow - Black and Blue

Friday, May 29, 2009

burberry marks its territory

Burberry made its mark on the New York skyline Thursday, apparently being one of only a handful of outdoor roof signs to be allowed in the city.

Although its a seemingly small gesture, I love the old-school quality of this. It's not a crazy neon or an LCD screen advert, just simple.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

the week of may 27

the first grid. 16 things i like right now.

1. alex prager, photographer. These photos are crazy good - one day I will buy one, but for now, I'll just have to admire from a far.
2. Anna Wintour's office at Vogue. Holy-picture-frames! (source unknown)
3. Houdini Arm Chair designed by Stefan Diez, 2009. A new take on curved plywood.
4. Diane Kruger's amazing style as of late.
5. Givenchy FW09 ad, by Mert & Marcus. Wonderfully goth.
6. Grey Goose bar, forgot where I saw this, maybe its in London somewhere? I love the geometric walls and the spaceage chairs!
7. Set design backdrop by Gary Card
8. A shot from the Holi festival - the festival of color in India. I would LOVE to someday go to this. An ancient festival in India, entire communities get together to celebrate color! They throw mound of powered pigment at each other while running the streets. The colors are so vividly pure and saturated I love looking at the photos. (photo source unknown)
9. A haunted house. The colors in this photo are eerily beautiful.
10. A Thelonious Monk album cover. Love the type.
11. 1973, Southwest Airlines stewardess uniforms. Gotta love hot pants and lace-up hooker boots!
12. Escher painting.
13. Hugh Hefner wwaaaayyy back.
14. Vintage 60s military Timex watchface. I want to put on of these on a great leather band. Apparently they wind up, and are therefore not the most accurate, but its just so classic.
15. The vulcan salute = new peace sign.
16. Rings! (photo source forgotten)

but i'd never say it to your face. i'd never say anything to your face. so i'll say it on my face.

Monday, May 25, 2009

good times.

bringing back the 90s part 2

my favorite childhood movie, my girl.

i thought vada was the coolest chick. and the clothes were awesome too.

its what i want.

I've recently realized that in most relationships, whether romantic or friendly, at any point in time there is a dominant individual. One of the two has the control. They call the shots, they make the plans, they take the photos... you get the idea. What I'm trying to decide is whether or not that is a good thing.

Romantically, when one person gives their being to another, not just in love, but in interests and in books and in everything, I believe they assume a dominant role. If their lover accepts these things as their own, they are in agreement, and therefore recessive. This can happen many instances in one relationship. Person A "owns" music, and person B owns fashion. Person A owns architecture and design, person B owns art. Its interesting how one can become the authority on an entire subject when faced with the microcosm of only two people.

But what happens when stuff is involved? When one person takes the photos. When every memory that exists of this relationship is in Photo-dominant-person's possession? The recessive person can leave, virtually scot-free. Do relationships exist without the tangible pieces that came from it? Can the recessive person forget easier? Is it better to leave behind these things in order to move on? And more importantly, when you do move on to a new dominant being, can the cycle continue? Basically, is it better to be recessive, to give and to take what you need, with virtually no tangible remains? And when you live this way, when you may make the plans, but you never take the photos; or when you write the notes, but never receive them, what happens when the relationship ends? Nothing changes.

I would like to live this way, because inevitably, people change and things lose their meaning. I think its the right idea: to live only in that moment, to take what you need, and to leave things behind when its all over. To be sentimentally minimalist.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

for those mod 60s intellectual types.

verner panton's multi-level lounger '63/'64. You know, 'for sitting and lying."
his archive

Friday, May 22, 2009

Thursday, May 21, 2009

ain't gonna wait one heart on you [anyone]

Being twenty-three is my excuse for everything. For being ambitious, unambitious; for being careless, obsessive, reckless, and a complete lush. Because being a twenty-three year old single girl in Los Angeles is like an education on “life”. It all comes rushing towards you when you realize its here: that adult life you never thought you’d reach. That’s right; the work, the friends, the shit, the hurt, the joy, it’s all fucking here, and just on time. Being twenty-three is your motherfucking wake up call. Even harder than deciding what you want to do in life is deciding who you want to be while doing it.

For me, it’s a state of constant sensory overload.

There is the day-to-day. The mornings of hungover haze, of remembering the mistakes and surreal moments of the night before. The kisses, the feeling of hands on your skin, of voices whispering in your ears. The dances: the twists and turns and down-lows of your night. The people who enter and leave in a matter of hours. The work life of late nights and heart-to-hearts with your new friends.

And then there is the past. The constant memories you can never seem to escape. The photos and letters and postcards. The boyfriends and girl friends you thought were yours, but turned out to be less best and more yesterday. The best becomes the past, every single day, and it's completely out of your control.

Finally, there is the absolute present. The right-motherfucking-now; on this couch, in that apartment. The dreams, and the goals, and the new directions. The love of this new band, and that fucking great old Nirvana song. The wine and cigarettes, the writing, the thoughtfulness, and images that catch your eye in that magazine.

This is just the beginning.

Monday, May 18, 2009

playground love

Is it wrong for me to feel slightly threatened by the members of Generation-"born after 1995-ish"? Okay, not threatened. Not in the way that I fear they will beat me up after class, steal my job or give me a wet willie on the playground, it's just, I have not given these kids the credit they deserve on the "with-it"-meter. Today I stumbled upon what feels like 10,000 blogs/websites created by people under the age of 13, and I began to wonder, how are they so well-versed? Smart/knowledgeable in that they watch The Office, know more about Bob Dylan than I do and have ideas about Pantheism.

Being about ten years older than most of these pre-teens, I look back on my 13-year-old days, when my musical tastes hovered around such "diverse" artists as Mariah Carey, Lauryn Hill, the Offspring, and even Britney Spears; nonetheless it pretty much stuck in Top 40 territory. Thanks to my parents I got a little bit of Beatles and Neil Young mixed in there (along with some 80's gems), but I didn't have actual opinions about their musical talent, their genres or their actual weight and importance in society.

As for fashion, the lovely just-turned-thirteen blogger Tavi, writes one of the top visited fashion blogs on the 'net, has an obsession with Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garcons, and owns a piece of Rodarte knit specially made for her by the Mulleavy sisters.

Don't get me wrong, you couldn't pay me to go back to age thirteen, or fifteen for that matter. But that kind of devotion and charisma that these bloggers possess at such a young age is actually quite impressive and even inspiring. It's almost impossible to compare these youngin's means of output for their interests to mine, for blogs just simply didn't exist in my day. Maybe you could say that the 3-ring binders I so dramatically plastered with photos of my favorite models and musicians from Vogue in 6th grade was my way of showing off my like total obsession with fashion, but I do not think that back then I could speak on avant-garde designers of the day with such eloquence and wit.

So I'll continue to keep my eye on these kids; in 2 years they'll be 15 and Vogue will surely be looking for cheap labor.

Check out these winners, and prepare to get owned.

Tavi, fashion blogger
Random kids singing Jarvis Cocker
Spencer Tweedy, son of Wilco frontman

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


There is something appealing about vintage cars that look less like giant spaceships and more like CARS. I know that's sort of like saying, diamonds are more clear than quartz - OBVIOUS. I also don't claim to know anything about cars, but I'd gladly trade in my little VW for one of these Porsches.

image from pilfered magazine.

Monday, May 11, 2009

karl x lara

Karl Lagerfeld has shot "Fitting Room Follies" with Lara Stone. Maybe its the black-and-white-and-model-all-over qualities, but it reminds me of certain scenes from Qui etes-vous Polly Magoo? This is probably partly because you hear Karl directing Lara the whole way through over the jazzy music. Lara is hot, and so is her "boyfriend" who she doesn't seem to be too happy with. Check it out below,

and a scene from the film,

a little bit of carine,

from acne paper:

"If people ask me to describe my look I always say: quite classic with an edge. Look at my [Balenciaga] dress. It doesn't look like I have on anything special, it's more the way you mix the clothes and how you move, how you open your bag, how you cross your legs — just little things that make a difference."

"with French women you first see the woman and then you see the clothes."

"its true about the quality of life in France, is about food, it's about sex...The French appreciate alot of sex and they don't want to change."

"carine: You don't know where my bag comes from. There is nothing on it, the same with my dress.
jonny: one can see that its very nice quality, beautifully cut.
c: it's balenciaga, but not balenciaga from the runway.
j: its subtle.
c: it's always subtle. "

aaaand, she's amazing.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

bringing back the 90s part 1

esther canadas.

she had big lips before angelina did.

notes to myself.

more goth, but also more pretty.
more art deco costume, less modern costume.
less trend, more cartier.
more cigs, less carbs.
more investment, less crap.

Monday, May 4, 2009

umm. yeah.

The Kills - Black Balloon from kenneth cappello on Vimeo.

more dramz.

I get it, Anna Wintour, you need to sell magazines. You need to keep your job, and you need to keep Conde Nast happy. But this?

"The public interest in models these last few years has not been as it was during the early ’90s when Naomi [Campbell] and Linda [Evangelista] caused so much excitement. And until models become celebrities again in their own right, I can’t see them selling as well on magazine covers as actresses. "The generation that followed the supermodels shied away from that sort of fabulosity and scrutiny."

She also says "For models to have the same social and commercial clout as Hollywood stars, they will have to want to live that sort of ‘fishbowl’ existence; they will have to be up for living a glamorous and public existence,” she says. “Gisele and Kate did this, of course, by dating the likes of Leonardo di Caprio and Johnny Depp early in their careers; by going out to events and walking the red carpet; and by each having, in their very different ways, a world-class sense of style." [ny times]

I just don't know how to respond. In my opinion the interest in models has, if anything, grown simply because it is easier to know about these models. There may not be a "big 5" of Naomi, Kate, Christy, Linda, et al, but there is probably a "big 20" set of girls, they just happen to live more private, though maybe not less privileged lives. There are entire blogs devoted to the style of Erin Wasson, entire forum threads devoted to the newest model to star in the Nina Ricci campaign, and well, you get the idea. Perhaps Ms. Wintour should keep Vogue a fashion magazine and leave the celebs for Glamour and other magazines of that caliber, and focus on targeting these young fashionistas into buying a subscription.


Friday, May 1, 2009

i love this 80s excess with julia stegner and garrett neff

Monday, April 27, 2009

dear you,

months ago there was still love. now there is nothing. every email search finds results in you. you meant everything at one point.
i am over it. i've found that to be sad is one thing, but to feel replaced is another thing.

to see photos i was once in, to see me, but instead of me, another girl, is just the worst.

well, my sadness is over. i don't feel sad for me, or for me without you. i feel inspired, i feel empowered, but what a challenge it is to get you out of my life. to ignore you!

so fuck off! i will not be friends with your friends, i will unsubscribe from your blog, and i will ignore your magazine on the racks. for you couldn't handle being my friend.

and i'm a damn good friend.


hedi slimane

have been meaning to do a hedi slimane post for a while. his hiatus from fashion design into a successful career as a photographer is impressive, and his photos are beautiful depictions of fashionable, young, odd faces.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I sit at my desk at 3.20am, making my clean face and teeth dirty again by smoking what feels like a much-needed cigarette.

I'm taking a personal inventory. Planning a portfolio that is a long time in the works, being completely selfish and racking my brain trying to figure out what I've accomplished in the past 2 years apres college. Looking through old sketchbooks finding logos, drawings, website plans, fashion lookbooks, magazine clippings and love notes.

The pieces of paper that celebrate a moment, and promise a million more moments. The mix cd's and museum tickets and books and photographs and all of the "life" things; how do these factor into a portfolio? They should, shouldn't they? Our creative lives are based upon our tangible output, but these products are a product of our experiences, visual influences, our soundtracks, and our conversations. I wonder if these are meant to be our secret weapons and private treasure chests, exposed only to those who visit our personal spaces and pique deeper conversation, or if they are meant to be shared and shown off like trophies and prized heirlooms of all that makes us who we are? The vintage books, torn down street posters, messy workspaces, and used exacto blades seem as important as the finished product.

So now to figure out how to display it all without giving away those precious secrets!

Sunday, April 19, 2009

so what if its the chick from gossip girl


Wednesday, April 15, 2009

"why do you adopt that personality as if you can't change it. you have a choice, stop acting so weak and powerless. it's not lady-like."

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

six months.

forget. forget. forget.