October 3rd 2016 at 7:26 PM

I'm looking through strand

The art floor

For the millionth time

There is this subconscious series of events

Things I need to do

Checklists

Productive for the mind body and soul

A list of things that every New Yorker must do

It's such a poignant specific arrangement of things to consequently bring you to the truest self

The coolest you you can be

I'm strolling through aisles

Flicking through glossy pages

The ballad of sexual dependency

A photographical series by nan golden

I take a picture of a picture of Brian, Nan goldens boyfriend, master sting

And the art has been replicated for free

Lifted off of glossy pages and transferred into grainy pixels on my iPhone

I think the reason I'm scared to share my art is not out of judgment

I think I'm scared to share my art because I'm scared to lose my art

Like somehow lifting it out of my head, onto paper, into someone else's possession, into someone else's head somehow makes it less mine

I wonder if I could do this

If somehow I could keep it al in my head and still somehow be recognized for it

Still somehow sell flip books of the same sketch of a dollar sign for 120 pages

Would people buy it?

Someday I'll look back at my youth and remember the hopeful New Yorker with frizzy pink hair studying art in Paris

Will I do something with that?

Will that be a fond memory?

Will that girl become something?

There are books here covered with replicas of paintings I got to stand in front of in real life.

I wonder if Warhol knows they're selling a flip book of his dollar sign and called it

"Making money"

It's $8.95

From Nan Goldin's The Ballad of Sexual Dependency

June 22nd 2016 at 3:25 AM

I have all of these unresolved problems inside me that only come out in angry grunts like a confused animal wounded in the woods

I'm turning 20 but I'm drowning in excess teenage angst, complaints filling up my cup and flowing over the surface

Tragic kingdom, morning view, under the bridge and the time mtv recorded nirvana unplugged struck and stuck to the 15 year old inside me, still screaming to be heard by anyone who will listen

In the way of two inch thick black roots in a bleach blonde lesbian hair cut and tight black clothes inappropriate for public high school, eyeliner wings stretching the sides of my face hoping to grow strong enough to fly away

I wish my adult self realized these problems before they sprung out in bewildered groans and spontaneous sobs

I wish I could rewind and playback in slow motion the development of a drinking problem, commitment fears and intimacy issues, mom and dad issues.

Every summer I visit my childhood home and dispel more and more of my old bedroom, pink paint chipping off cheap cracked plaster walls

Sometimes I feel like part of me will always be stuck in that twin sized mattress, creaking over its 15 year warranty

Or part of that lumpy mattress will be stuck in me, in back tension and an empty stare

June 16th 2016 at 1:30 AM

What happens to balloons when they float in the sky

do the lights in my head go off when I close my eyes

What happens to cats and dogs when they die

All these questions all I can ask is what when where why

Look up and think what makes the sky blue

What if the tide controlled the moon too

What is the force between me and you

All these questions I've got but what can I do?