Useful wings.

There are so many other paths to self-discovery but I had to do it by leaving. I had to leave to live. From betrayal to betrayal, I choose to be true to myself.

Read more »

It's all about Soul.

If rain had a sound, it would sound like them.

Read more »

New York, I love you more.

My heart belongs to this city where imagination is kept alive on the streets.

Outside is the fire escape. We need escapes for everything, not only fire. Betrayal is constantly at our heels.

On land, these are your limitations, Sailor. Where is your boat? Let's leave first thing tomorrow and float for a century.

Read more »

New York, I love you.

This is C. Life draws itself around her and beyond her. But she doesn't know it yet. At 18, she's almost 25. She bridges our age gap with art and laughter. I think her laugh is one of the best that I've ever heard. 

Read more »

Visiting the Guggenheim

By Afro.


By Conrad Marca-Relli (patches of cloth that he collaged together)


Scepter by William Baziotes


Woman Ironing by Pablo Picasso


Dusk by William Baziotes

[art] “brings forth those strange memories and psychic feelings that mystify and fascinate all of us.”

Read more »

Planetarium

J and I went to the Planetarium last Monday. Imagine sitting in a dome-like cinema with the movie being played overhead. The show was entitled Journey to the Stars and was narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. (Click on the title for the site! http://www.amnh.org/rose/spaceshow/journey) We found out that each of us contains about a teaspoon of the very first stars. And that only 1% of all stars turn into supernovas; Live fast, die young, I should say. :)

Born from stars, in the end we will lose ourselves to the wind; mere stardust risen from the grave.

Read more »

"Exploring" may be hazardous to your dignity

Lollipops.

(pauses for violent reactions)





Care for a nipple, anyone?

Read more »

The Function of Art 1

On the 1 train to 51st Street, a man armed with charcoal and a small notebook entered one day. Swirls of color stained his arms with tattoos that must have meant something to him. To her they whispered, "We cannot be contained."

Glancing around, he waited for something to speak--mysterious eyes, a shy smile, a strand of hair waiting to be brushed away. In their seeming ordinariness, he knew that each one still had a story to tell; each face, a fleeting testament to one's odysseys. But his eyes finally rested on her. He recognized her even if he'd never known her. And so with a strange sense of urgency, he simplified her life with lines of black and white, illuminating her soul with shaded depths of gray.

When he was satisfied, he flipped his notebook. A collection of strangers flash by. She wasn't his first. Stepping out, he hides a smile, proud to carry with him a testament to each one's secret desire--"Please see beyond me."

Recordar: To remember, from the Latin re-cordis, to pass back through the heart.

Read more »

Orientales Putas!

(9th ave and Hudson? What does that MEAN? hahahaha!)

Last Sunday, we ended up drinking with J's friends from Kaplan. Apparently, there was a girl there who had a crush on her classmate so she got the wrong idea (thought J was after the guy) so she kinda got pissed. We thought it would be easier if we just left but the other girls told us to stay. So, we did.




We ended up drinking on the rooftop of their apartment.
The moon was full...with beer and drunken laughter.

"EXCUUSE, Why is two?"

Read more »