i have nothing to say here

i watched the helicopter's spotlight
rooting around in the darkness
as i drove up the deegan
i keep hearing it circling overhead
(i think i'm going to move to queens)

savant
savant
ça va

(ça va)

success

i know some people be all crazy an shit about ladies' armpitz bein' all hairy an shit but let me tell you that shit is whack

my dad and i had a strange heart to heart to night
(which already, ten minutes afterward, i barely remember)
over a lot, a lot, a lot of margaritas
talking about how he needs to change his life and
his body and i suggested cycling
(which changed mine, most certainly)
and he was one a guy who biked from austin to victoria
(121 miles)
just because he wanted to save gas money
(in college)
so i said i would ride with him

and somehow he gets the gall to ask me that if he changed his life
would i change mine... in the form of shaving my armpits
and all i have to say is
"what the fuck, seriously?"
because i'm drunk
and as far as i'm concerned this has been a change in my life for the better
akin to being a guy with high blood pressure and all sorts of health problems
who seeks to improve his condition

i was once a girl
forced into convention with no outlook who saw beyond that and sought to
rebel with naturalism and honesty
and its never, ever been a problem in my life until now,
sunbathing on the beach in mexico with my family,
who is embarrassed by two strategically placed tufts which mean nothing
but a little extra body odor and
a lot more liberation.

to a certain extent
but certainly more comfortability on my part
and nothing that i intend to change
in the near future
(unless, of course)
(it might shave a few years off of)
(my father's most certainly imminent)
(heart attack)
(((((((((((((oh what to do, what to do?!?!?!))))))))))))

where is my mind?!

ok, so i seriously almost quoted part of this song in verbatim today in conversation
(signs of a culturally-deprived, artistically-deficient, geographically-disabled childhood)

WHAT THE FUCK!



I know. It doesn't work. Jimmy Buffett sucks. If you really need to see it you can just click
here.



okay, but seriously:

WHAT THE FUCK?!

why is it that i am able to have jimmy buffett committed to memory, but not barthes?
what do i have to do to make that shift in literacy or cognition or whatever happen?
maybe i should just listen to more of this?

a message

to the girl who shows up to the first day of my history of modern art lecture with a tote bag from matthew marks gallery:

...really?

(projs) \|/ (probs)

i woke up early thinking about what i was going to do next year
with a*space next year and whatnot
what with the booking for the first six weeks having fallen through.
having to wait on those projects, i thought about my
biweekly "bootleg video series" that i wanted to do.
so i started on a flyer
because i figured if it sat on my desktop
just glaring at me with those blank helvetica eyes
i would actually follow through with my plans
eventually

while i was making it, too, i realized that i am SO CLOSE to coming to a point where I feel really comfortable with my itunes library
for years, bobbing around forty gigs, but never being really happy
now we can just go round and round on random with rarely a skip
compared to the old days
(yay)

of course
all this will probably change
once i go back to sarah lawrence
and the ultimate self-consciousness sets in...

blah
blahblah
blahblahblah
blahBLAHBLAH
BLAHBblahLAHBLAH
BLAHBLAHBLblahAHBLAH
BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAblahHBLAH
BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHblahBLAH

(re)(re)(re)(re)(re)

i first began this blog about seven months ago, a day or so after i moved out to marfa.

i had high hopes and intentions about writing on my experiences, but soon realized that - like so many other times in my life when i was trying to write about what was happening to me coincidently and as it happened - instead of hyperanalyzing what was happening to me in an immediate sense, i should try to experience it in reality, without the (often stifling) processes of detachment, mental recording, and performativity which occur when i am intending to present it to some unknown virtual audience.

so i began to write a few entries, but put off posting them. and even when i had completed something, i generally felt very insecure about thrusting it into a public sphere - especially when it was regarding marfa, which is such a small and incestuous community. i simply feared some sort of judgement or alienation, as ridiculous as it sounds.

but now i don't care. i have established myself, in some sense, and couldn't give a fuck what is said to or about me. and ultimately, i realize in retrospect that in blogging about those experiences at the time would have revealed a shameful bit of naivete. hence the private journaling rather than public musings. (woo hah!)

for years, i have kept a blog on and off. (and i certainly feel this shame and read this naivete when i look back weeks, months, years in my *GASP* livejournal). i gave up for... many reasons.

but fuck it. here i am again. i need a place for my thoughts, some works. fragments, sentences, photos, what have you. the act, the gesture of making my thoughts and observances public (in a sense) legitimizes these thought processes for myself.

---

today i began working (if you can call it that) for -------- (ANONYMOUSE CONTEMPORARY ART INSTITUTION) on their new blog.

i never wanted to become one of those people. i see them attached to their laptops, detached from life in a sense, plugged into the virtual space.

but it is all virtual space, all hyperreality at this point.

---

i don't know what this blog will be, or what it will signify.

i think it may verge along the lines of the "oversharing" variety.

but fuck it.

i come from the livejournal generation.

---

regardless...

i hope you find it interesting.