check this out. it reveals the sheer beauty of craigslist. happened back in february, after i'd seen the same nagging ad for months.
the ad: audition for a female singer.
Band is searching for NYC based singer (no tourists!)
1> perfect pitch
2> dark/ tall/slim/sexy (above 5.7, under 115)
4> born to be a singer > be Pro minded.
5> NO SONGWRITERS
6> direction : pj harvey cat power beth gibbons mazzy star bjork
My response?
Me: I've seen this ad too many times to not respond. It's frankly disconcerting that you have A HAIR COLOUR PREFERENCE in your quest for a singer. It's an appalling addition to your already nauseating height & weight requests.
Think broadening your range might help in actually finding your front woman?
See attached to get it through your ridiculously thick (and ignorant) skulls that sexy doesn't always come in an American Apparel catalogue wannabe, doe-eyed, size 2 frame. Neither does talent.
(note: small photo of my humorously annoyed face attached)
What ensues?
Him: obviously UUUUUUUUUU love urself....not bad....at all....but what it has to do with my ad or taste (i only work/date with female models....it's my choice....and i just donwanna change anythig in that field). regarding talent > i train female singers....that's my main ROLE besides songwriting....i am sure that i can find some "needed to be
improved" stuff in your singing....if you don't think so >try me...i don't bite (like you) and also i am friendly person to artsy people....100% truth. lemme know :) you don't have height...but probably you have guts/confidence to respond with ph#
okdk tnx
Me: While I do appreciate the response, I'm not looking for a date, or a Svengali. I thought the ad was seeking a lead singer.... Good luck with model thing.
Him: date? r u kidding ? my g/f was shoked...she said >" is this girl jumped out of her mind" ? bw > we read emails tgtr...ure toooooooooooo farrrrrrrrrrrr from my league....and i already have a wonderful g/f....well guess....yeap....she's a model....i already said that i date only models....ure faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr frome that league....you know that :) and also i loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee my g/f....a lotttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt :). i am a PRO musician and TRAINING dosn't means SEX but VOICE TRAINING u PSYCHO i knew that ure a blah blah chick > obviously ur reply talks about it > BIG TIME
Me: Erm... Your response said date/work, hence the comment. I've seen your post up on Craigs, for how long? Months? If you're a vocal teacher, why can't you just use one of your students/models and just train her?
I shared this exchange (thinking he'd laugh at its sheer ridiculousness) with a friend who does do music professionally (as in a REAL studio with REAL producers, like Marius De Vries and Billy Steinberg) and he just laughed saying "No one who actually does this for a living talks like this, this guy is a wanna-be phony who thinks a model can conceal his lack of talent. Even most pop guys I worked with (for Dido, Kylie, Jewel, Kelly Alli- none freaking models or amazing vocalists, mind you) weren't like this."
Is Beth Gibbons a model? PJ, Bjork? Crank up the auto-tune, because you're going to need it.
Everyone appreciates a beautiful woman, myself included, but beauty can't make up for talent even with "professional" training, which your frequent protesting that you are, indeed, make you sound like an amateur. Maybe you're just waiting to release the next Heidi Montag/ Paris wannabe to make a buck. All fine & well, but don't conceal your lack of integrity with barbs about a stranger's looks. It's puerile. Wait- should I define that? Puerile= unnecessarily childish.
My response to your ad was a simple inquiry as to why, if you're looking for a PJ, there is a height/weight requirement? The two are completely incongruent. I'm simply a singer looking for people with great sensibility to work with and, while I might not be featured in Terry Richardson's next spread, my looks are not an issue. Get that? Obviously not. Besides, your equating the ONLY kind of girl you work with with the kind you date is troubling enough. Go back to Williamsburg.
All sarcasm aside, I know working on music is a tough process. Seriously, good luck finding that ideal combination you're looking for and making it work. Best of luck.
Him (at 2 am): i'm more into name like richard wagner/strauss...faure/mertin/bartok...this are the people i rank like
my league...in couple of years (including tomorrow) nobody will remember names that you came up with > you'll see it....including your "super pro friend"...please don't waste my time....yes > i work with and date only models....don't like it > ask ur friend to write stuff for you and maybe make love...at list you'll be more relaxed....at list you
(message ends)
The ad now, 3 months later?
Is there ANYONE who's not 5' tall and wannabe singer?
Someone who has voice/image/brain/passion for singing + + +
Most chick that reply to our ads are > tourists/single/fat/no voice wannabes :(
Nothing wrong with that but WE DON'T NEED THEM AT ALL (be nice you may say > we
are but it's not about beeing nice....it's all about finding right match for our
songs/music)
We are looking for (and please DON"T reply if it's not you):
1> perfect pitch
2> strong middle range
3> tall/slim/sexy (showbiz is showbiz...there are minimum requierments) (sounds like daiting ad but it's nothing even close to that)
4> born to be a singer > no begginers/curious chicks...be Pro minded.
5> must have personal life in place (no single/drama divas please)
6> must have time for serious commitment (working 2-3-4-5 jobs? this call is
not for you....sorry)
7> again and again > NO SONGWRITERS (search for your own band > yeap)
8> happy personality is A + + + bcs in this band > we love people with POSITIVE
ENERGY)
9> NO LIBRAS (we have our reasons for this)
he got it wrong there. i'm a pisces.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
reasons to smile thru the haze
though near defeated by a head cold that's rendered me completely useless since saturday, there are reasons to rejoice.
1. prince covering 'creep' by radiohead. it's beautiful when two incongruent worlds collide, eh?
2. the promise of seeing my bloody valentine in september.
3. massive attack in amsterdam this summer at a park steps away from my old flat.
well, seeing amsterdam in the middle of summer, PERIOD, is reason enough to be elated. eschewing all the memories that will be conjured up undoubtedly, i am dying to go back.
4. knowing that a portishead tour SHOULD follow the release of third.
5. the return of farmer's markets & next sunday's excursion to the brooklyn flea.
1. prince covering 'creep' by radiohead. it's beautiful when two incongruent worlds collide, eh?
2. the promise of seeing my bloody valentine in september.
3. massive attack in amsterdam this summer at a park steps away from my old flat.
well, seeing amsterdam in the middle of summer, PERIOD, is reason enough to be elated. eschewing all the memories that will be conjured up undoubtedly, i am dying to go back.
4. knowing that a portishead tour SHOULD follow the release of third.
5. the return of farmer's markets & next sunday's excursion to the brooklyn flea.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
something drastic
i'm overwhelmed by the feeling that i need a big change. not just in the "cut all my hair off & dye it back to blonde" or "move to a city where i can reinvent myself" kinda way (though both sound strangely enticing), but in the "run screaming naked in the desert in search of my spirit guide" rite of passage respect. mind you, i'm far from defining myself as "spiritually open" (even though i've been known to use a monroe institute cd or 2) and am the first to call friends chakra-drunk hippies at even the first mention of their moon signs, but i want to push myself in a way that is completely unfamiliar.
so, i'm prepping for the master cleanse. i know it sounds batshit crazy, but i actually like the taste of the stuff. i want to challenge my willpower- quit the cloves in the process- and the added bonus is that i may even drop a few pounds though i feel pretty decent considering the fact that one of the most exquisite girls i know compliments me every time she sees me in this dress
change is good. willpower is even better.
so, i'm prepping for the master cleanse. i know it sounds batshit crazy, but i actually like the taste of the stuff. i want to challenge my willpower- quit the cloves in the process- and the added bonus is that i may even drop a few pounds though i feel pretty decent considering the fact that one of the most exquisite girls i know compliments me every time she sees me in this dress
change is good. willpower is even better.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
50 more
there's an open submission invitation from a site called common ties where artists and writers are asked to answer questions in 50 words or less, perhaps adding artwork or illustration.
while i've tacked a few of the questions, i'm still workin' on the artwork.
3. Where is your favorite place in the world, and why?
The garden behind a Victorian house in North London. Where children’s voice peal in happy laughter, the barbeques last until midnight every summer and the grass is cool beneath my nomad’s feet.
4. What's the one thing your parents don't understand about you?
How a bucolic childhood, woven liberally with golden threads of privilege, could breed such quiet malaise.
16. If you could take back one thing you have done, what would it be?
Conditioning myself with steely focus to artlessly critique myself with a scientist's cold precision.
17. What is your greatest talent or accomplishment?
Not only having the gift of complete mutability, but imbuing each swift shift with the same fervent passion that the last was granted.
while i've tacked a few of the questions, i'm still workin' on the artwork.
3. Where is your favorite place in the world, and why?
The garden behind a Victorian house in North London. Where children’s voice peal in happy laughter, the barbeques last until midnight every summer and the grass is cool beneath my nomad’s feet.
4. What's the one thing your parents don't understand about you?
How a bucolic childhood, woven liberally with golden threads of privilege, could breed such quiet malaise.
16. If you could take back one thing you have done, what would it be?
Conditioning myself with steely focus to artlessly critique myself with a scientist's cold precision.
17. What is your greatest talent or accomplishment?
Not only having the gift of complete mutability, but imbuing each swift shift with the same fervent passion that the last was granted.
Friday, April 18, 2008
dancing queen
it all started because i was impatient.
i wanted out... and out i came, two and a half months early at a shocking two and a half pounds. rather serious in the late seventies. my parents were told not to notify anyone for the first 48 hours as my chances of actually surviving were slim. after a few days in the incubator, i was still kicking, but my mum was still warned that there might be later ramifications and consequences in my overall health and development. four weeks later, at a whopping four and a half pounds, i was sent home, and became part of a study about the development of pre-term babies.
over the next few years, i tested exceedingly well in terms of cognitive skills. where i lacked? hand-eye coordination. so the white coats recommended that my mother place me in ballet classes at the tender age of (i estimate roughly) three.
and, dance i did. it was not only therapy, but grew to be something i loved. so much, in fact, that i begged to continue in weekly classes. it was the first thing i ever loved.
i grew up, my flaxen hair growing darker and blue eyes turning to cool green, and danced through my parents' house.
i've already discussed about my love for flashdance.
i longed to be teenager so i could shake it on network shows.
then i just wanted to be paula abdul.
next, i got serious and wanted to dance for janet jackson (and memorized almost every move of the videos she released during the rhythm nation era)
note: looking back, i think there's a definite split between aspiring dancers of my age range. it was either madonna or janet. now, i can appreciate the inherent sensuality of madonna's sexecution, but janet was always my dancer, fo' real.
later, i was elated to be accepted into the joffrey ballet summer program at the tender age of thirteen. (at the audition, i nailed my fouette turns and smiled at the judges even though i almost knocked over another girl with my enthusiasm).
(okay readers. now i'm crying. out of sheer nostalgic delight).
longing to be a fly girl, bending the stiff soles of my pointe shoes in the door frame of my teenage bedroom, going back to janet...
... all of this ruled my early teenage life.
until it happened. my body changed. breasts took over my once small frame like unwelcome aliens, and i lost it. buried deep under a thick layer of teen angst and a budding love for theater and art, i forgot dance. i acquiesced somehow to the fear that i'd never have the skill or the body to really make it.
sure, i danced in high school and in my first year of college, but as years passed and my once lithe muscles groaned with the extra effort of being pulled into inhuman angles, i gave up.
upon moving to new york a year ago, i found myself confronted by the question, "but are you dancing?" more than once or twice. from my parents, childhood friends, even my old dance partner from my studio days.
it was enough to get me started again.
not enough to claim a front row position and rock every move with my substantially heavier body, but i started.
and posting this is reminder enough to keep me at it.
i wanted out... and out i came, two and a half months early at a shocking two and a half pounds. rather serious in the late seventies. my parents were told not to notify anyone for the first 48 hours as my chances of actually surviving were slim. after a few days in the incubator, i was still kicking, but my mum was still warned that there might be later ramifications and consequences in my overall health and development. four weeks later, at a whopping four and a half pounds, i was sent home, and became part of a study about the development of pre-term babies.
over the next few years, i tested exceedingly well in terms of cognitive skills. where i lacked? hand-eye coordination. so the white coats recommended that my mother place me in ballet classes at the tender age of (i estimate roughly) three.
and, dance i did. it was not only therapy, but grew to be something i loved. so much, in fact, that i begged to continue in weekly classes. it was the first thing i ever loved.
i grew up, my flaxen hair growing darker and blue eyes turning to cool green, and danced through my parents' house.
i've already discussed about my love for flashdance.
i longed to be teenager so i could shake it on network shows.
then i just wanted to be paula abdul.
next, i got serious and wanted to dance for janet jackson (and memorized almost every move of the videos she released during the rhythm nation era)
note: looking back, i think there's a definite split between aspiring dancers of my age range. it was either madonna or janet. now, i can appreciate the inherent sensuality of madonna's sexecution, but janet was always my dancer, fo' real.
later, i was elated to be accepted into the joffrey ballet summer program at the tender age of thirteen. (at the audition, i nailed my fouette turns and smiled at the judges even though i almost knocked over another girl with my enthusiasm).
(okay readers. now i'm crying. out of sheer nostalgic delight).
longing to be a fly girl, bending the stiff soles of my pointe shoes in the door frame of my teenage bedroom, going back to janet...
... all of this ruled my early teenage life.
until it happened. my body changed. breasts took over my once small frame like unwelcome aliens, and i lost it. buried deep under a thick layer of teen angst and a budding love for theater and art, i forgot dance. i acquiesced somehow to the fear that i'd never have the skill or the body to really make it.
sure, i danced in high school and in my first year of college, but as years passed and my once lithe muscles groaned with the extra effort of being pulled into inhuman angles, i gave up.
upon moving to new york a year ago, i found myself confronted by the question, "but are you dancing?" more than once or twice. from my parents, childhood friends, even my old dance partner from my studio days.
it was enough to get me started again.
not enough to claim a front row position and rock every move with my substantially heavier body, but i started.
and posting this is reminder enough to keep me at it.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
like a 12 year old boy
i was taken to barcade last night. right up my alley, i think. a gazillion different beers with a long row of video games along the wall of a massive warehouse. unfortunately, most of the people there were simply leaning on the games instead of actually, you know, playing them. which prevented me from playing rampage (note: the at home version was better. you could choose to be godzilla, king kong or mothra. and the building crushing seemed too apropos sitting from the 2nd story bedroom of my childhood abode).
now, if they had a desk with an apple 2e2c set up with a stack of floppy disks that included the oregon trail, where in the world is carmen sandiego and the ALF game, i'd be set.
i like video games. so what? not necessarily this wii madness. just looks like people flailing around madly like preteens on a cafeteria dancefloor, making the most of a whitesnake song in front of the chaperones' wary eyes.
but i do dig dance dance revolution (which, come to think of it, looks far worse than preteens flailing to hair metal).
i also still laugh at fart jokes and resort to plunging my finger halfway up my nose and crossing my eyes when catcalled by strange men in the back of gardening service pick up trucks.
isn't it astounding how i've managed to keep boyfriends for more than 42 hours?
now, if they had a desk with an apple 2e2c set up with a stack of floppy disks that included the oregon trail, where in the world is carmen sandiego and the ALF game, i'd be set.
i like video games. so what? not necessarily this wii madness. just looks like people flailing around madly like preteens on a cafeteria dancefloor, making the most of a whitesnake song in front of the chaperones' wary eyes.
but i do dig dance dance revolution (which, come to think of it, looks far worse than preteens flailing to hair metal).
i also still laugh at fart jokes and resort to plunging my finger halfway up my nose and crossing my eyes when catcalled by strange men in the back of gardening service pick up trucks.
isn't it astounding how i've managed to keep boyfriends for more than 42 hours?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
big trouble
i recently rekindled my love for 'big trouble in little china.' it's rampant unabashed racism is countered by the fact that kurt russell and kim catrell play the dumb white assholes that get entangled in a pickle that's far out of their caucasian league. chinese mysticism and sorcery aside, the movie is a guilty pleasure. all the way.
watch the following clip. the maniacal giggle/ thumb twiddle phantom warrior move by lo pan is easily one of the most genius moments in 80s cinematic history.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
en garde.
i'd rather sharpen the tools in my box than hide from his veritable arsenal of verbal weaponry.
Friday, November 23, 2007
self-destruct
i never write here. it's being used against me (which then simply sends me into a tailspin of anxiety and self-loathing). as soon as i figure out a way of salvaging the decent posts for my own interest, eruditemess will be signing off permanenetly.
Monday, August 27, 2007
my first new york summer
it's nearly drawing to a balmy end. after 3 steady months in the city, i feel like i'm starting to get comfortable.
in my job. in my shoes. in my new home.
not that it's a home quite yet.
a general contractor has been working on the basement i'm supposed to inhabit since june. for now, i'm still on the couch. it's glorious, really.
especially when the heavy evenings require me to stretch out in various states of undress before my unsuspecting roommates who have become all too accustomed to the shadow of a nipple too oft peeking over the edge of the blanket as i grumble in early morning half-stupor.
saturday started with a quick visit to the farmer's market to pick up a few pounds of brandywine tomatoes (that have now become my new obsession. i could eat brandywines, mozzarella, & basil every day until i die. and broccoli. but that's another story). afterwards, i helped my friend (and roommate carmine's gal) move into out apartment. i spent the day sweating and playing box tetris as i tried to maneuver her items into the space before our OTHER roommate moves out. carm & lulu rewarded my herculean efforts with the best cheeseburger i've ever had (bonnie's grill on 5th ave in park slope. AND they serve magic hat). we then proceeded to royale. i drank a few blueberry pale ales before getting in a cab to nurse my throbbing (... not head...) biceps.
sunday= brunch at olea in fort greene (which was a beautifully piquant bloody mary and cilantro scramble with olives & zucchini). then, we ran off to singsing, where i discovered that i do a brilliant shirley manson. we spent 2.5 hours (and ended with one verse of "only in my dreams" by debbie gibson. chosen randomly. i'm serious). later, brandywines & "a clockwork orange."
this summer dribbles down my chin in sweet, seedy goodness. and this time, i don't mind the stains.
in my job. in my shoes. in my new home.
not that it's a home quite yet.
a general contractor has been working on the basement i'm supposed to inhabit since june. for now, i'm still on the couch. it's glorious, really.
especially when the heavy evenings require me to stretch out in various states of undress before my unsuspecting roommates who have become all too accustomed to the shadow of a nipple too oft peeking over the edge of the blanket as i grumble in early morning half-stupor.
saturday started with a quick visit to the farmer's market to pick up a few pounds of brandywine tomatoes (that have now become my new obsession. i could eat brandywines, mozzarella, & basil every day until i die. and broccoli. but that's another story). afterwards, i helped my friend (and roommate carmine's gal) move into out apartment. i spent the day sweating and playing box tetris as i tried to maneuver her items into the space before our OTHER roommate moves out. carm & lulu rewarded my herculean efforts with the best cheeseburger i've ever had (bonnie's grill on 5th ave in park slope. AND they serve magic hat). we then proceeded to royale. i drank a few blueberry pale ales before getting in a cab to nurse my throbbing (... not head...) biceps.
sunday= brunch at olea in fort greene (which was a beautifully piquant bloody mary and cilantro scramble with olives & zucchini). then, we ran off to singsing, where i discovered that i do a brilliant shirley manson. we spent 2.5 hours (and ended with one verse of "only in my dreams" by debbie gibson. chosen randomly. i'm serious). later, brandywines & "a clockwork orange."
this summer dribbles down my chin in sweet, seedy goodness. and this time, i don't mind the stains.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
booty
damn widget only allows me to publish short posts.
the train of thought has left the station.
more later.
the train of thought has left the station.
more later.
hello, sexy.
i was 13 years old, with dirty blonde hair halfway down my back and my pre-womanly bits just starting form under my then favourite sunflower-adorned short overalls (always paired with the black cardigan & imitation doc martens i didn't take off for most of my adolescence).
only a slight nod to nabokov, i might have been the epitome of budding sexuality, but was utterly inept. i had let one or two boys try to kiss me in the dim corners of dances in the cafeteria of my suburban middle school, but rolled my eyes and cringed if their tongues tried to pry my mouth open. no pop music, but only pop kisses, i demurred.
it was my first time visiting new york. i had been dragged along to accompany my parents on the trip while my dad attended (or at least PRETENDED to attend) a medical convention. they managed to convince me by promising at least 2 broadway shows. i can admit it now- the surest path to my pubescent heart was seduction by overtures, choreography, and sequins.
i was trailing behind my parents as we walked around midtown (precise locations elude me now). a man pounding the sidewalk with a sure step and careful pinstripes was walking against traffic. he looked straight at me, gave me a sly smile and said, "hello, sexy." i remember running ahead to cling to my dad's arm in shock. both my parents had heard every word and were thoroughly amused, both by the stranger's manner and my response. so amused, in fact, that they still tease me about it to this day.
15 years later, i find that i still get attention prowling the same streets, now only slightly more familiar. not that i am by any means a great beauty or striking in a head-turning way, but strange men ask me a flirtatious question or simply give me a warm hello on a daily basis. the manner is always appreciative, quite unlike the drunken protestations i got behind the bar, but i still don't get it.
perhaps being in an anonymous city gives men carte blanche to say things they wouldn't in a place where you're bound to bump into them at the drug store or in line at the dmv.
only a slight nod to nabokov, i might have been the epitome of budding sexuality, but was utterly inept. i had let one or two boys try to kiss me in the dim corners of dances in the cafeteria of my suburban middle school, but rolled my eyes and cringed if their tongues tried to pry my mouth open. no pop music, but only pop kisses, i demurred.
it was my first time visiting new york. i had been dragged along to accompany my parents on the trip while my dad attended (or at least PRETENDED to attend) a medical convention. they managed to convince me by promising at least 2 broadway shows. i can admit it now- the surest path to my pubescent heart was seduction by overtures, choreography, and sequins.
i was trailing behind my parents as we walked around midtown (precise locations elude me now). a man pounding the sidewalk with a sure step and careful pinstripes was walking against traffic. he looked straight at me, gave me a sly smile and said, "hello, sexy." i remember running ahead to cling to my dad's arm in shock. both my parents had heard every word and were thoroughly amused, both by the stranger's manner and my response. so amused, in fact, that they still tease me about it to this day.
15 years later, i find that i still get attention prowling the same streets, now only slightly more familiar. not that i am by any means a great beauty or striking in a head-turning way, but strange men ask me a flirtatious question or simply give me a warm hello on a daily basis. the manner is always appreciative, quite unlike the drunken protestations i got behind the bar, but i still don't get it.
perhaps being in an anonymous city gives men carte blanche to say things they wouldn't in a place where you're bound to bump into them at the drug store or in line at the dmv.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
widget-friendly
desktop blogging will make it ostensibly easier for me to post. now, there are no excuses.
Monday, June 18, 2007
on top o' the world
guess who's jobby?
that's right, folks.
i landed a job. in ny full-time now. easing into the comfort of knowing that i won't be moving around for quite a while.
i love my new york life.
seriously.
not so bloody unfamiliar either. within 24 hours of my return from london (note: more on that later), i'd bumped into TWO friends of mine. completely randomly. in the middle of new york.
that's right, folks.
i landed a job. in ny full-time now. easing into the comfort of knowing that i won't be moving around for quite a while.
i love my new york life.
seriously.
not so bloody unfamiliar either. within 24 hours of my return from london (note: more on that later), i'd bumped into TWO friends of mine. completely randomly. in the middle of new york.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
to which he could never respond
why does one call it
falling when it's more like
sinking?
honeysweet
quicksandsleep
deeply
into the marshes of his body.
his body.
his body is but
undiscovered territory...
a lush, savage country
where i seek to
leave my mark
(if only for a moment)
to make it seem conquerable,
mine.
i long to trace the lines
of every peak and valley,
use his sighs as the compass
to guide my step.
i will lose myself in the
jungle of him-
stumbling through
the tireless brush
naked,
speaking in tongues,
like a thick-lipped native
possessed by
primordial gods with
names unprounceable.
i will wait by the
drybed of his collarbone for
the rain to collect,
and i will drink.
i will crawl through the desert of
his belly
to find cool solace
in the cavern of
his navel.
i will track my paces with
a cartographer's detail
in fine ink
to guide the explorers
who will next follow my trail.
for there will be others-
lured to a sailor's death,
dashed against the flat stones
of his shoulders,
his sirensong
a last folly.
falling when it's more like
sinking?
honeysweet
quicksandsleep
deeply
into the marshes of his body.
his body.
his body is but
undiscovered territory...
a lush, savage country
where i seek to
leave my mark
(if only for a moment)
to make it seem conquerable,
mine.
i long to trace the lines
of every peak and valley,
use his sighs as the compass
to guide my step.
i will lose myself in the
jungle of him-
stumbling through
the tireless brush
naked,
speaking in tongues,
like a thick-lipped native
possessed by
primordial gods with
names unprounceable.
i will wait by the
drybed of his collarbone for
the rain to collect,
and i will drink.
i will crawl through the desert of
his belly
to find cool solace
in the cavern of
his navel.
i will track my paces with
a cartographer's detail
in fine ink
to guide the explorers
who will next follow my trail.
for there will be others-
lured to a sailor's death,
dashed against the flat stones
of his shoulders,
his sirensong
a last folly.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
new york i love you, but you're bringin' me down
5:01 p.m., thirteeenth day.
i'm typing with one hand, leaning out the fire escape to smoke my first clove in a few days. the radiator beneath my legs spits angry bursts of steam to hasten my pending departure.
this isn't working out quite as i'd planned.
this city could swallow me whole. i don't venture out half as much as i should.
i'm lonely. and jobless. both to the point of desperation.
i hadn't told many people i was "moving" because i wanted to simply arrive, start working, then surprise everyone with all the good news.
there isn't much to report.
i find myself endlessly scouring want ads, sending my portfolio to countless agencies, and never getting a response.
even the headhunter i met with when i visited last month won't return my emails about either of the two jobs i thought i had in the proverbial bag.
at least in miami, i had the promise of a few hundred bucks a week and some welcome distraction. my cat. the man who's kept me warm for a few months. dinners with the goddess i call my best friend. the chance of bumping into people i know.
while manhattan can offer me anonymity, it has kept me locked up and silent.
i thought i knew enough people here to have a support system.
i've been lucky to spend time with two old high school friends. both lovely, fantastic, amazing women who i'm blessed to have kept in contact with over the years.
last weekend brought some smiles. friday night in the east village, smoking my first hookah, having a 3 a.m burger at a diner laughing about old seinfeld reruns. saturday afternoon in the lower east side, having brunch and singing karaoke.
(note: and as i write all this, my lovely laura calls to make plans. see? so very lucky to have her. every girl lately- jiji, jill, laura- back from my past makes me feel more at home than anything. i always forget how much certain friends from my past stood out as family- friends for life- and the surest path to my not being so goddamned isolated. let's admit it. it's a game i've mastered.)
"opposing forces" seems to be the phrase of late.
people i barely know have commented on how there's something intangible about me. about my simultaneous urge to be the extroverted, confident, boisterous girl ready to have a thrilling conversation with even the potted palm in the corner and my tendency to curl into myself whilst staring off, completely unable to form even the most basic, coherent thought.
everything about me is at odds with itself.
i used to write it off as being part of my charm, but i'm certain that it only makes me completely unavailable.
what can you expect? i'm a half jewish, half christian- half english, half irish- half creative, half intellectual- thoroughly maddening woman.
perhaps someone in this massive metropolis will seek to break the code.
until then, i'll go back and forth between comfort and struggle.
i'm typing with one hand, leaning out the fire escape to smoke my first clove in a few days. the radiator beneath my legs spits angry bursts of steam to hasten my pending departure.
this isn't working out quite as i'd planned.
this city could swallow me whole. i don't venture out half as much as i should.
i'm lonely. and jobless. both to the point of desperation.
i hadn't told many people i was "moving" because i wanted to simply arrive, start working, then surprise everyone with all the good news.
there isn't much to report.
i find myself endlessly scouring want ads, sending my portfolio to countless agencies, and never getting a response.
even the headhunter i met with when i visited last month won't return my emails about either of the two jobs i thought i had in the proverbial bag.
at least in miami, i had the promise of a few hundred bucks a week and some welcome distraction. my cat. the man who's kept me warm for a few months. dinners with the goddess i call my best friend. the chance of bumping into people i know.
while manhattan can offer me anonymity, it has kept me locked up and silent.
i thought i knew enough people here to have a support system.
i've been lucky to spend time with two old high school friends. both lovely, fantastic, amazing women who i'm blessed to have kept in contact with over the years.
last weekend brought some smiles. friday night in the east village, smoking my first hookah, having a 3 a.m burger at a diner laughing about old seinfeld reruns. saturday afternoon in the lower east side, having brunch and singing karaoke.
(note: and as i write all this, my lovely laura calls to make plans. see? so very lucky to have her. every girl lately- jiji, jill, laura- back from my past makes me feel more at home than anything. i always forget how much certain friends from my past stood out as family- friends for life- and the surest path to my not being so goddamned isolated. let's admit it. it's a game i've mastered.)
"opposing forces" seems to be the phrase of late.
people i barely know have commented on how there's something intangible about me. about my simultaneous urge to be the extroverted, confident, boisterous girl ready to have a thrilling conversation with even the potted palm in the corner and my tendency to curl into myself whilst staring off, completely unable to form even the most basic, coherent thought.
everything about me is at odds with itself.
i used to write it off as being part of my charm, but i'm certain that it only makes me completely unavailable.
what can you expect? i'm a half jewish, half christian- half english, half irish- half creative, half intellectual- thoroughly maddening woman.
perhaps someone in this massive metropolis will seek to break the code.
until then, i'll go back and forth between comfort and struggle.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
tabula rasa
the question arises: can one ever attain the state of being truly clear?
with each proverbial slap in the face that i've experienced for the past seven months, i try to convince myself that i've been given a clean slate, a fresh start, the opportunity to create a new perspective and a new life for myself...
...but it's hard to fool myself when everything seems like i've taken a huge step back to adolescence. searching for work, questioning every choice i've made, living with the parents for the first time in years while i take on small jobs to make ends meet and pay off my steadily increasing student loan bills.
that whole "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" is hippieshit. i've nothing to grasp onto and i'm damn ready for a big change. a vertiable tsunami would be welcome at this point, i tell you (and here i thought i'd gotten over the ubiquitous quarter-life crisis).
would i really WANT to be wiped clean, "eternal sunshine" style, of the past year, of every (both blessed and damned) trial that came my unassuming way?
to be clear of every thought of him that shocks me into remembering that he'll never be a part of my life again, when so many pieces of our life remain, badly-concealed artifacts of (cue violins) the way things were... his faded t-shirts still carefully folded by my able hands in the drawers of the cupboard in my once-sanctuary of a room, left behind when we moved to amsterdam. birthday cards tucked between pages of books that once crowded our shelves. the journal i created for our first christmas that chronicled the story of how we met. the album of photos from our trip to venice that he compiled on my 26th birthday, locked in our bedroom while i cleaned our flat and cursed him between numerous cloves and sapphire tonics. the white duvet cover with loopy red hearts that didn't seem sappy when we bought it. the alarm clock that played "the white album" the morning after our first night together while we laid in bed and i sang to him.
not that the break-up was all that felled me, but there are too many pieces of him left unclaimed in my ever-growing lost and found.
i wouldn't, and can't, clear my mind or my space of these remnants. wouldn't want to.
didn't think this would turn into a whiney post break-up rant. i certainly didn't intend for it to be.
perhaps i can be more eloquent when it's not almost three in the morning. i was about to quote a line from 'the vagabond' by colette, which has something to do with it being a perfect time for a woman of ill-refute to retire, but it escapes me. perhaps tomorrow.
with each proverbial slap in the face that i've experienced for the past seven months, i try to convince myself that i've been given a clean slate, a fresh start, the opportunity to create a new perspective and a new life for myself...
...but it's hard to fool myself when everything seems like i've taken a huge step back to adolescence. searching for work, questioning every choice i've made, living with the parents for the first time in years while i take on small jobs to make ends meet and pay off my steadily increasing student loan bills.
that whole "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" is hippieshit. i've nothing to grasp onto and i'm damn ready for a big change. a vertiable tsunami would be welcome at this point, i tell you (and here i thought i'd gotten over the ubiquitous quarter-life crisis).
would i really WANT to be wiped clean, "eternal sunshine" style, of the past year, of every (both blessed and damned) trial that came my unassuming way?
to be clear of every thought of him that shocks me into remembering that he'll never be a part of my life again, when so many pieces of our life remain, badly-concealed artifacts of (cue violins) the way things were... his faded t-shirts still carefully folded by my able hands in the drawers of the cupboard in my once-sanctuary of a room, left behind when we moved to amsterdam. birthday cards tucked between pages of books that once crowded our shelves. the journal i created for our first christmas that chronicled the story of how we met. the album of photos from our trip to venice that he compiled on my 26th birthday, locked in our bedroom while i cleaned our flat and cursed him between numerous cloves and sapphire tonics. the white duvet cover with loopy red hearts that didn't seem sappy when we bought it. the alarm clock that played "the white album" the morning after our first night together while we laid in bed and i sang to him.
not that the break-up was all that felled me, but there are too many pieces of him left unclaimed in my ever-growing lost and found.
i wouldn't, and can't, clear my mind or my space of these remnants. wouldn't want to.
didn't think this would turn into a whiney post break-up rant. i certainly didn't intend for it to be.
perhaps i can be more eloquent when it's not almost three in the morning. i was about to quote a line from 'the vagabond' by colette, which has something to do with it being a perfect time for a woman of ill-refute to retire, but it escapes me. perhaps tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
synchronicity. serendipity.
the precise moment i think my path has been defined, everything shifts, and a new route appears.
i had spent the last two weeks absolutely convinced that i was going to stay in miami to finish my degree after quitting the ad school. while i was incredibly happy to have the opportunity to spend time with my friends & family, i must admit that i was mildly disheartened. i thought that my hard work had gone unnoticed by my school& my classmates alike and that i was simply going to have to "do it" on my own.
i had convinced myself that summer in new york would be unbearable & that i was lucky to not have to cope with the scorching heat (and no air conditioner, natch). i had almost become comfortable with having to stay with my parents and eased my ailing ego with the reassurance that i'd be saving money by living in miami. i thought i had made a thoroughly responsible decision in my compromise.
the strangest things happen when you least expect it...
i received a call this afternoon, inviting me to intern at a small agency in new york with a guy who (quite frankly) rocks. he works. HARD.
with my rent paid for 3 months and $1000 going towards my tuition, there was no way i could say no.
the mess is moving to the city for 3 months, kids.
i had spent the last two weeks absolutely convinced that i was going to stay in miami to finish my degree after quitting the ad school. while i was incredibly happy to have the opportunity to spend time with my friends & family, i must admit that i was mildly disheartened. i thought that my hard work had gone unnoticed by my school& my classmates alike and that i was simply going to have to "do it" on my own.
i had convinced myself that summer in new york would be unbearable & that i was lucky to not have to cope with the scorching heat (and no air conditioner, natch). i had almost become comfortable with having to stay with my parents and eased my ailing ego with the reassurance that i'd be saving money by living in miami. i thought i had made a thoroughly responsible decision in my compromise.
the strangest things happen when you least expect it...
i received a call this afternoon, inviting me to intern at a small agency in new york with a guy who (quite frankly) rocks. he works. HARD.
with my rent paid for 3 months and $1000 going towards my tuition, there was no way i could say no.
the mess is moving to the city for 3 months, kids.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
spindle
i think of him
every moment i shouldn't
find myself longing to tangle my hands
in his dark hair
til it curls around me like vines
crawling over my body
til i'm cocooned
like sleeping beauty
in her castle of brambles
every moment i shouldn't
find myself longing to tangle my hands
in his dark hair
til it curls around me like vines
crawling over my body
til i'm cocooned
like sleeping beauty
in her castle of brambles
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