Art Basel- Switzerland

From Basel, with love.

June 16- switzerland

Plane descending to Switzerland through clouds and potholes of air pockets. As the plane pushes through the clouds and land forms i spot a castle, and then two more. Basel. Right on. I have spent the last 3 days pondering this moment of my arrival into your space, and that last moment of our being together, before we each head off into the world- frantic trajectories from this one space- bouncing wildly into seperate hemispheres for an undetermined amount of time. And knowing when that exact moment is- is weird. I Have it, printed of a piece of paper in the small pocket of my jeans. The moment I kiss you goodbye and head Into the labrynth of airport security, will be the exact moment our relationship as it currently stands, is terminated. I know exactly what time of which day it will be, and precisely where we will be standing, when it ends. It’s written down. Like I said, weird.

And my painfully logic and sometimes ugly brain battles my sweet sensitive emotional heart about how to feel and act at the moment I see you, and the course of the next 3 days. It’s trying to plan a course of action without taking to account the factor of you, what comes out of your mouth, and the strength of your loving arms. And this causes some extreme anxiety right as the plane violently touches down to the runway, and frantically attempts to stop, without missing it’s turn. It’s too late to put my seatbelt on, I think. And suddenly I really have to pee.

As i fight my way into the rush of 6 rows of people flooding the tiny aisle of our tiny jet my brain and body battle with whether either is willing to let you or us go, and whether or not either of us have a total choice in this matter- and then it happens. That song comes on. Right at it’s exact moment. I’ve been listening to this song knowing, for 8 years now, that it would play out it’s plot and purpose in MY life. One day. And just now it did.

April 19

My eyes are tired. I’m back on the train, this time pruning my new plant and listening to chuck D- scoping tattooed boys. Half the time it’s because I think I know him, or know who’s tattooed him. The rest if the time it’s because i think he’s cute or I think his tattoos are ugly. I want to know– if he’s smart, if he thinks I’m deliscious, or if he’s just another boy I’ll hoodwink. I wanna know if he’s gonna say goodbye or leave early. Then I remember that I just swallowed two entire 22′s by myself at 8% each– the good stuff, I made money today. And then I remember that mostly, I don’t care so much.

It’s almost midnight, I’m covered in ink stains and gold lame. There’s 500 in my purse in cash. I just want to be next to someone that I don’t have to censor myself around. So I bought a plant- I already have a cat.

Lists

[ode to blind leading the blind part xx by apocolypstick. The NYC version.]

It’s a rainy Friday night. I just got on the L train, and it smells like someones colostomy bag broke. Christ. I thought wet dog was bad, but being trapped in a tiny room with yesterdays feces is far worse. That being noted, let’s get down to business. Ladies, some word of advice from someone who learned the hard I.e. Embarrassing way:

1 quit smoking. You look stupid. You smell like last nights one night stand, and yr addiction should never keep a pretty girl like you, stuck outside in the rain, when everyone else is having a party inside. Boys, no one is sexier than the marlboro man, keep on blazin. But pls, if you make it to my bedroom, check yr habit at the door. My cat doesn’t want cancer.

2 invest in good shoes. Learn to walk in them. Don’t buy them if you can’t. Nothing screams stupid like a girl walkin around in her pantyhose at prom. I don’t care if all the other girls are doing it, they look stupid too. Plus, yr heels make yr ass & legs look exponentially better. And why ruin yr feet after you spent all that money on a fancy pedicure? Yr feet are pretty. Keep them that way. In shoes. Even when fucking.

3 speaking of shoes, uggs, rain boots & flip flops are a no go. Uggs are NEVER okay, not even in LA. You look stupid. Rain boots are acceptable in the RAIN only. Have heels in yr purse. Or cute flats. Or whatever. Flip flops are okay anywhere BUT NYC, where they are okay only In Your House or on the beach. Otherwise yr pretty feet are filthy cesspools of the homeless population’s excrement. Gross. Again, waste of $$ pedicure.

4 try not to dress like a hooker. If yr vagina is falling out of yr dress, put on some fucking pants. Damnit.

5 drunk is cute, til you vomit. Never vomit.

6 making out with girls just for the hell of it is trashy and childish. If yr gonna make out with her, you better be willing to fuck her. No one likes a tease.

7 boys with skateboards are a perfect accessory

8 children are NOT. More Condoms, ladies. And neither are little dogs in yr purse. I get that yr lonely, but it’s cruel to dog AND purse. Please. Get the little shitstain OUT or yr Chanel.

9 the key to looking svelte- is to buy and wear clothes that FIT you. Even if yr a size six, you look fat if yr ass crack is hangin out of yr jeans. Same for yr belly. Or yr fat feet. Tuck the bulge, ladies. Im not telling you to invest in maternity wear, just something that covers yr crack and yr muffin top. Put it away. Or better yet, buy the right size pants. You’ll be more comfrtable, and hence confident. Confidence is always the new black. That, is the definition of sexy.

10 wash yr fucking hair every once in a while. And try to get some exercise. Breaking a sweat once a day does yr skin wonders. And as my dad says, if ya don’t use it, ya lose it. Fact.

11 if yr a hipster in “east Williamsburg,” a subwy rat is more interesting than you. It’s worth yr time to develop a style. Let’s stick to the classics. Black. If yr ever in doubt, there’s a few styles that stand true: blue jeans and white shirt. Be it wife beater and skinnys to boot cuts and halter button up, it works, always. Let’s not forget black tank black jeans black boots. Or dark jeans camel boots. There ya go- secrets from a pro.

Suspenders

I love boys in suspenders. Especially ifthey are wearing boots and hve tattoos. This ones tattoos are sorts stupid, but he has endless eyes to make up for it.

Unfortunately, he probably spent waaay too much money on his denim pants to hold his suspenders.

So I go back to reggae and remember that there’s a boy in Germany who wil wear whatever i Tell him he looks good in. And promptly I will remove those clothes from his body.

Security april 8 2010

There’s a man standing next to me on the train who has a gun. He’s not a cop. And what if monday night I had a gun and was quick on the draw — and wen that man hit my ace with his cane the scene would have played out differently. Something like a mix between an old western saloon scene and frank millers sin city. He was waiting for me to turn around- and nailed me. I wouldve dropped the glasses- a few bouncing on the floor and a few shattering- as I drew my tiny pistol. Quickly – though this part plays out in slow motion- I would have shot him- square in th face at close range. Or in the shoulder. Whichever part I hit would explode from the back side and make a mess of the bar. And suddenly you can only hear the music. People are terrified- some run- some are paralyzed by fear and disbelief.

Is being assaulted with a cane enough to justify shooting someones face off?

No. I’m just angry. I’m allowed that. And I want to better at shooting. It’s a life skil.

April 6 2010

Sundresses are a great accessory to a black eye and purple lip. Just so you know– if yr grill gets busted, go glam or go home.

Monday night- packed bar full of crazy hot lesbians celebrating someone 26th birthday- I kick out a homeless dude that snuck in and was stealing peoples beer. Moments later he returnes weilding a big black stick, that promptly met my face when I turned around with an armful of glasses. And like clockwork as I called 911 the tattooed boys and girls stepped up and pummeled him- then chased him til the cops got him. Thanks rich and Antony. Without you guys the schizophrenic cane weildig retard would still be on the loose Beating women who tell him to stop cursing.

I hate wearing this much make-up– so I’ve decided black n blue is the new black.

Years ago when I worked at beauty bar on Saturday nights- I used to get really stoned at the tattoo shop before my shift- so i could handle all the weekender retards. I loved playing little tricks on them- so I’d burn the end of a wine cork, and smear it all around my left eye. I’d proudly walk up second avenue watching the saturday night bridge n tunnelers get increasingly distressed. I’d smile coyley when I caught them staring. My boss- a millionaire old school punk rocker- perpetually stoned- also thought i was funny. He would just sort of shake his head and laugh when I walked in. Occassionally- one of my retard drunk customers would compliment me on my make-up. The point here- is that you weren’t supposed to like it. A chick with a black eye is disturbing. Fact. I lived that then. Loved being her. Now, not so much.

Regardless- this is NYC- and as much as I hate it, wearing suglasses at night is till kinda cool. It’s a little bit gangsta. It’s pretty much obnoxious. Til I take off my glasses and instantly become a pity case. Thankfully- this won’t last long.

Written April 5 2010

It’s the only train in the system that’s crowded on a sunday night/ monday morning at 1 am. I’m amazed by the sheer number of white people in either loafers or pink shorts or black rim glasses or any combination of the three. I’m losing my bushwick credit by the second– standing here with my bike– too drunk to ride home.

Aaahh this is what it means to live here– and it pains me and disgusts me– yet fascinates me as well. Somehow I’ve manages to remain on what I consider “the fringe” for the last 10 years- despite that what I knew to be “the fringe” was sooo far from it. I guess I just miss the Dominicans and the puerto ricans and the young not white kids up late at night causing trouble. I miss their tight jeans and loud jaunts. I miss the fucking crown dried chicken. I don’t miss the white kids.

I don’t miss frantic over thought behavior and ridiculous sunglasses, and underthought irony. I miss mamas with their babies and shopping bags and ladies in scrubs coming home from work. I miss living somewhere where no one gave a fuck who I was– or what I did- or whom I knew. Now- here- until we pass jefferson- I feel like I’m part of a god damn fashion show. Maybe it’s time to move. Maybe it’s time for a change. Clearly I’m actually over it, whatever it is.

Bad News VBS TV tattoos Dustin Dollin

a while back some aussies and a film crew stumbled into NYHC Tattoos. a sleepy day at the shop, i had some time for  a few walk-ins.. turned out to be pro skater Dustin Dollin, his wife, some [friends] and their crew- filming the first episode of Epicly Later’d for VBS TV. enjoy.

and also, i cant seem to figure out just yet how to get the video to appear here, so just click on that stuff.. and i also have no idea who Nicole and Dustin are (theres a link to a photo of mom and baby.. i didnt do that. wordpress did. so fuck them. this is not a blog for or about babies.)

Journal entry– march 29

Rainy monday in brooklyn. I get on the train to head to work at the bar. Car is full of slumped over old men that smell like wet dogs. My stomach hurts — mostly nerves. I just spent $650 on a plane ticket to Berlin- with the intention of working and having no real work there. Yet. I’m in love- and this is the part of Being In Love that makes you do stupid things. Like that time I drive 1500 miles to Georgia In the middle of the night. That was fucking stupid. Not for nothing, I’m glad he didn’t like me that much- and we never Fucked– because years later I discovered he had herpes. Bullet Dodged- thank you god. This one, Is a bit more risky. And exciting. I’m sort of an idiot.
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Seriously guy, what are you looking at? Never seen a white girl on these tracks before? Honey you must be Sleepin.
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