Tuesday, June 26, 2007

A feral child from Montpellier.

Something about her seems starved, feral. Her smile has a tone of desperation lurking in its creases. She dances on her toes, the very tips, like she wears toe shoes and listens to electro clash jam bands. A deep deep voice emits out of a frail frame and a soft face. This particular face is framed by volumes of wicked uninhibited black curls.

"You arrhh sou bew-ti-fal", she tells me. Her accent is so thick I can only understand her some of the time. When she talks to me she looks at me directly in the eyes, which makes me uncomfortable. I blush.

She is a wild thing. Insatiable, completely. I taught her what the word "tough" means, which was more difficult that I would have thought it to be. "What eez thees tough?" I put up my hands and made a boxing motion, then I pointed at my tattoo, and squeezed my midwestern lover's bicep. These were all the immediate things I could think of to illustrate tough. I was desperate to offer her something, a small form of provisions. She smiled and used the word six or seven more times that night. Usually in poor context. She gave me a drink back at her friend's house in Williamsburg, "I made you a tough drink." I just smiled and held her face.


Apparently, its not just me, even dictionary.com has a hard time defining it.

tough [tuhf] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation, adjective, -er, -est, adverb, noun, verb
1. strong and durable; not easily broken or cut.
2. not brittle or tender.
3. difficult to masticate, as food: a tough steak.
4. of viscous consistency, as liquid or semiliquid matter: tough molasses.
5. capable of great endurance; sturdy; hardy: tough troops.
6. not easily influenced, as a person; unyielding; stubborn: a tough man to work for.
7. hardened; incorrigible: a tough criminal.
8. difficult to perform, accomplish, or deal with; hard, trying, or troublesome: a tough problem.
9. hard to bear or endure (often used ironically): tough luck.
10. vigorous; severe; violent: a tough struggle.
11. vicious; rough; rowdyish: a tough character; a tough neighborhood.
12. practical, realistic, and lacking in sentimentality; tough-minded.
13. Slang. remarkably excellent; first-rate; great.
14. in a tough manner.
15. a ruffian; rowdy.
16. hang tough, Slang. hang (def. 56).
17. tough it out, Informal. to endure or resist hardship or adversity.
[Origin: bef. 900; ME (adj.); OE tōh; cf. D taai, G zäh(e)]

—Related forms
toughly, adverb
toughness, noun

—Synonyms 1. firm, hard. 5. durable. 6. inflexible.
—Antonyms 1. fragile. 5. feeble, weak.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Halftone Nightmare/Fireflies in Queens

There is a man who stands outside my subway stop every morning. He stands and forces cheep tawdry newspapers on people. He flings them in your face and most people just take them, being caught off guard, and throw them away at the bottom of the steps, before getting on the train. I have never seen someone take on one the train, open it, and begin perusing the halftone nightmare. Not once. If I did witness such an event, I would likely, get out of my seat and slap them sixteen times. I've been passing this man every morning for three weeks now. Never once even gesturing awkwardly as if I might take one, then quickly withdrawing. Never making eye contact, no never.

Today he hit me with it.

There is no doubt in my mind that he meant to. He said "take". Then hit me with it, squah in the gut. Bastard. I wanted to push him down the stairs. I wanted to see his head smash on the concrete steps below him. His teeth knocked out, his hair matted with blood. A helpless whimper and gurgle. Instead, I kept going. Down stairs. Caught my train. Opened my book, tried to read the lines, pretended to read the lines, but really, truly little darlings, I just fantasized about said violence. Fucking fucktard.

and now, ladies and germs, its time for a non sequitur . . .

I don't know how many people know this, I certainly didn't. There are fireflies in Queens. I see them every night.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

A sturdy structure indeed.

The house I am staying in has the most beautiful banister. In the morning, when I wake up, I like to go straight down stairs to get a glass of water, letting all of my weight rely on it for support. It is a sturdy structure, which sits under a skylight (that hasn't been washed in years), allowing soft, foggy sun to pool near the top of the stairs. In a little over a week, I get my own place. I am excited to not be relying on people anymore for a place to sleep, however, I will think about the banister I left behind from time to time and no doubt suffer a pang.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Excuse me, sorry, I think you got some bubonic plague on yer ass.

Recently, my main man Adam and I discovered that there are no Dairy Queens in NYC. We were saddened, naturally, at first, but elated to find that there are plenty in New Jersey. The scourge of the earth. Apparently. I have noticed a bit of hostility over here in the more costal towns of the United States of mo'fuggin America, towards the inhabitants of Jersey. Personally, the wretched little lump of land has done me well in my one and only visit. To acquire the tastiest of soft serves, we pilgrimaged over one body of water, and under another, through three different transit systems, one state border, and walked through a grubby little neighborhood that looked like aids was growing on the sidewalk.

Adam is a douche-bag. And also, you cannot tell from this 3/4 profile shot, but he has two differently colored green eyes. Thusly, I have nick named him TWO TONE (by the way, thusly is a funny word).

Our carefully planned out directions. I do not enjoy being lost. End of story.

I liked that the train we took was called the PATH. It makes for an easily misinterpreted sentence when you say, "And thusly, we took the path to Jersey."

Adam dutifully check to make sure we are on the right path. The path to pun city, that is.

He didn't know I was taking these pictures. What a douche.

We arrive in New Jersey, with our fairly departed city skyline behind us. Onward soldiers, shed no tears.

Adam got a million phone calls from his friend that day . . .

. . . and I got bored at the light rail stop.

Nothing much to say. This about sums it up over in NJ. I hate when I rhyme when I don't plan to. Damnit.


Look at her. You know she loves her some DQ. Bitch matches the dang place.

I ordered a dip cone and it was jankey as shit. I heart NJ.

Apparently, they don't believe in benches and tables in New Jersey. Adam looked me like I was carrying the bubonic plague when I sat down to eat my damn ice cream.

The sun was devouring my ice cream faster than I was. And I'm a messy, messy girl. I usually keep wet naps on me, in case I need to wipe some plague off my ass.

I like this guy. He's Jersey tough.

The sugar high carried us back to the train. Goodbye New Jersey, and thank you.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


Recently I modeled for some photos for my home girl, Crystal Quinn, also known as Seek You. This little lass, along with two of her comrades, come together to create HYPERLUSH. They make magical post-apocalyptic-psychedelic-eskimo fashions. Here is a best of from the shoot, which was art directed by HYPERLUSH, and shot by Aaron Wojack {clicky click}.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

A collective hole.

I am reluctant to write about my move. Mostly, because my move has landed me in New York. Something I have noticed is that New Yorker's love to read about themselves as a collective whole, or rather, a collective hole. It is indeed a narcissistic culture, which in my mind's eye is not a criticism, seeing that I myself, am prone to narcism. What this all boils down to quite plainly is that so much has been written about what this city does and feels and surges and produced and what can be observed and done here, that I am left hesitant to be one of those wandering New York kind of writers. Its been said, its been said.

However, the city has been kind to me. I could very well go on about cultural oddities, savvy spots and where I've been eating but I have found more so in the past couple of weeks that you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can't take the midwest out of the girl. In the end, it is just a city, like any other. With people like any other. I believe that when amazing things happen to you, its the company that you keep that fuels the engine.

So here I am, shacked up in Queens with a midwestern boy with two different colored green eyes, who treats me kindly. Wearing what I wore in Minneapolis, saying what I said in Minneapolis, just saving gas money by taking trains to work. All placidness aside, there are a few features of this city that delight me thus far. First, there are many stretches of blocks with chain-link fencing down the entire sidewalk, which I love to run my fingertips along, fighting the impulse as my hand becomes numb, to pull away and rescue my tactile senses from a benign torture. For so many blocks I find this simple way to challenge myself, its become a kind of game. Often, by the time I get to the train I fumble around a bit to get my metro card out because I cannot feel my right hand for a moment.

The other simple pleasure I have come to enjoy happens every morning and evening when I'm waiting for my train. No matter what the weather is outside, it seems that in the summer the air in the subway system is hot and dense and stale. It gets stifling as you wait for the train. And then when the tunnel shakes a bit I put down my book and stand up from the bench in anticipation. I walk to the edge of the platform and watch the lights barrel down the tunnel. Finally as the train approaches a tremendous wind rushes by and my wild rats nest of a mane flies all over the place and my skirt hovers around my legs just slightly and I shut my eyes tight and for a moment it feels like I'm back in the midwest waiting for a storm of that certain midwestern variety to start. You know, the kind that look green and make you think the world is about to end, when dogs howl all day just before and cats hiss at the window all night after.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Osmosis means through cell walls, right?

Recently someone said what was unequivocally the grossest/most beautiful thing I have ever heard with mine own ears.

When you fuck a comedian, you become funnier through osmosis.

Ish dude, ish.

Saturday, June 02, 2007

For old times sake.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where –" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"– so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."