Tuesday, 30 October 2012

Stranded in Brooklyn: Sandy 2012

Hurricane survival: candles, coffee, cigarettes

Why WOULDN'T we play dress up while stuck inside all day?!

Bubblegum drag-princess

Desolate Devoe St, mid Sandy 


View of Manhattan - the day after tomorrow

Sunday, 28 October 2012

You vanished.

Here I am - sitting alone again on my dirty floral couch, trying to conjure up something that makes even a sand grain of sense. Here I am again thinking about how nothing will ever be as tangible as when I got off the subway that night and whispered "that hurt."

Sucking in and breathing out we passed a Marlboro back and forth; between out separate fingers, between our separate lips. Embracing in all the most intimate of ways, yet not really embarcing in any way at all. And I suppose I don't really know you very well - but I know that it was 3:32am when you laid your tired head on me and I realized that you made me feel completely unhinged. And I know that my words were anomalously spilling out of me; bouncing off the walls and landing scattered on the floor - I was a mess, but you didn't care. And you are the perfect combination of California and New York and you like Joy Division and I like the sound of my voice when I'm with you.
And you vanished.

I am a land mine of emotion. Thinking about it now, I feel so much it's killing me.
It's all because of you.
You are so goddamn iridescent. I could look at you for barely a moment before having to turn my head the other way. The moonlight bled all over you when I told you you were an over-thinker and you told me it was my fault. And that was when the light inside of me was like a great forrest fire; a flame running through the hollow of my spine, up to my fingertips, peering out of my eyes and burning through my clenched teeth.
And I had to physically restrain from grabbing your hand.
And my ribs are bruised and breathing becomes a task.
And I swear to God, you could've saved me.
And you vanished. 

Monday, 15 October 2012

Shoe Lust.

So obsessed with the shoe section on nastygal right now. After reviewing my finances, I've decided that if anyone has the hookup and would like to sponsor me, I'd be really into that.

Sunday, 14 October 2012

My mind is running a marathon.

It's cold in my apartment and somewhere in a distant past the weather is beautiful and I can almost hear you making me laugh. Somewhere out there it's a weird August night and a voice as innocent as the first snow of winter is saying that he is "so happy he could die."

But alternative universes don't really exist and neither do mermaids or unicorns, so I guess everything I love is a joke.

And the reality is that every day something beautiful dies and advertising is all a lie, and people hold hands in rainstorms and and kiss goodnight under a bleeding moon while still feeling completely hollow.
And every night I sit around, filling an empty room with empty words in a desperate attempt to ignore the emptiness that lingers inside of me.... painting my life with the most cliche of all metaphors, and catalyzing another head rush from another cigarette that is slowly diminishing me.

It's kind of like that time two years ago when you were so glad to have a friend who understood everything and you were so damn excited to be surrounded by the promise of new air. But you slept many months longer than your nap was intended and now it's 2012 and the world is scheduled to end anyway, so fuck it.

But upon waking, you realized...
that the air that surrounds is all just pollution and smog.
No one understands or even gives half of a fuck.
Everyone is the star in their own movie, we're all just trying to survive the day.
And the lights in this city are much too bright and they're not beautiful at all,
they just obstruct my view of the stars.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

October 14th, 2012

Thursday, 4 October 2012

I thought I could get high off Sunday afternoon and a waterfront view. And if I drank a glass of wine and inhaled enough of my environment, maybe I could fly. But I can't fly and even in my dreams I keep crashing to the ground. And sometimes I scream and sometimes it doesn't even matter, because every single morning I still wake up alone.

I'm in a haze.
I can no longer recall what day of the week it is, or the curve of your palm, or how you used to stain my skin with words that were simple and vibrant.

The only thing I'm certain of is that I hate myself for thinking of you approximately every sixth morning when I wake up. The ocean is blue, but not nearly as much so as when you're swallowing it's salt. And three summers ago, you grabbed my hand and said "they write movies about this shit."


With yet another fashion week come & gone, I suppose it's time to review all the weird and wonderful looks that have emerged. Now that all the beautiful people prancing about the city have returned to their homelands, MAYBE my sex drive and self image will return to normal. I don't know, probs not.
Well anyway, here it is.... these are a few of my favorite looks.

Josie Natori
Jason Wu
Helmut Lang
Dries Van Noten
Donna Karen
Jeremy Scott
Jeremy Scott
Anne Sofie Madsen
Katie Gallagher
Katie Gallagher
Marc Jacobs
Marc Jacobs