for lovers only
stark, clean, milky white & soft, smooth blacks. paris and lyon and marseille, impromptu coastlines and narrow streets. wearing scarves to markets and crying at hotels. knocking on doors and bathing for motorcycles. spinning bridges, liquid eyeliner bicycles. vivid hours encased in luxurious coastal chambers, ethereal relationship vacations, tour de spontaneity.
paris is burning
« heaven grand in amber orbit »
colors in the city; neon lights and flourescent lipstick. spandex, nylon, microphones. pineapple cardigans and polka dotted suitcases exploded by the revolutionary pearls club. queer cabaret paintbrushes, ice cold eyelashes, feathered triangle tangerines. smoked-up spaceships.
« shake the dice and steal the rice »
betty blue
pastel americana, hunter s., calypso & beaches & coney island babies. grimy & amorous lawn chairs on the dock. plaster casted camp, abandoned optimism. unrepentant pastel saxophones serenading pregnant typewriters. cooking in a pleather jacket, dreaming of checkered tablecloths. nostalgia for the docks, for the seaside, for the road. wild at heart for life.
excuse me sir your sweat’s in my breakfast
magic trip
postcard california; los angeles palm plateaus seducing america’s feckless sybarites. mysterious, sudden sickness & exile. poring through unhinged archives. bathing in ink and and tainted cheese. urge to travel tasted again, but it never ever leaves; each day is a resurgence. cerulean and neon and painted water; flat fields and improvisation and autonomy; swimming through clouds of vinyl incense. bohemian exultation
beautiful losers
ink blots and studies in movement and crooked squares for comics. hungry research into figure styles & remembrances of brigid berlin. cut and paste and copy and trace. resolutions toward abstraction
l’auberge espagnole
« a stranger among strangers »
obsessive revisitation with embroidery, holiday lights, & prayer flags; romain’s versatilité, fragilité, luminosité. travel; of planning and dreaming, of montmartre, of being alone in cities in neighborhoods tourists aren’t welcome; lingering too long as an ecstatic, invisible voyeur. airports & warm wine & gleeful, overly appreciative, observant anonymity. every time this movie is a memory, & i return to a hotel and see a face and taste a taste and melt back into my spiritual home; movement.
result; surging optimism, cloaking fatalism & penury with vivid, atmospheric memories & future experiences
yet another self-involved catalogue of personal information on the internet is an unwise way to deal with technology addiction. although i am still determined to escape the empty clicks and wasted hours, to fill them with more substantial readings and doings, i wonder if carving out yet another space will actually function as an aid. maybe if there’s a place to catalogue offline absorption i can escape the oppressive brand of futility that can only be delivered by a perpetual technocoma. maybe recording will inspire greater dedication to offline pursuits.
so this is to be a personal space in which i can reclaim thought via the improvised, unedited cataloguing of art-oriented consumption in the actual world. perhaps it will evolve into a proper blog like those from my teens—or, if expository, it will function as a proper journal. journaling, like watching films, reading, taking photographs, finding work, talking to other people, or undergoing any number of aesthetic/useful endeavors, is always on my to-do list. awareness should be experienced, with awake & open eyes-it shouldn’t be pushed to the future as a reminder, a bullet point that’s never reached in favor of numb passivity. if momentary awareness is overridden by distractibility, one should at least try to catalogue whatever might be left in the margins.
plan of action;
first, i’m going to post simple photos from films i’ve been watching. for about 8 years, i catalogued all movies watched in and out of theatres, but have become lax in my duties since i abandoned journaling a couple years ago. netflix and other engaged online media services picked up such monitoring, which extends to books with goodreads, fascinations with tumblr, protestations on twitter, music on last.fm, my own work on flickr, etcetcetc-its infinite and i’m constantly finding little forgotten places on the internet where i failed to carve out a coherent identity. much of this is overly decentralized and inadequate when it comes to expressing obsession or ideas relating to these experiences, so i find myself yearning for the consistent personal narrative of blogging.
for now, there will merely be photos, with a note here or there. hopefully those notes will expand and the silence, the numbness, the abegnation, will finally be destroyed.
By far
