Wednesday, June 19, 2013


 was helplessly curious when I was younger, as most children are.

I bothered my parents with incessant questions, mostly about little things that don’t have simple answers—why do dogs bark instead of meow? How hard is it to become an astronaut? What is rice?

My mother would often respond with an exasperated “I don’t know.” Upon further questioning, her tone would become harsh, threatening. “I don’t know,” she’d say, “and it doesn’t matter. Go play.”

My father told me that he was the smartest man in the world. I believed everything he said, including that claim, so his tactic was to provide me with made-up answers.

For Christmas one year, I received the Big Book of Questions and Answers. While I enjoyed it thoroughly—devoured it, even, especially the section on human anatomy—I now realize that it was a tongue-in-cheek attempt at suppressing my curiosity.

Curiosity is something we lose as we grow up. Most of us have this tendency to stop searching, exploring, probing, and asking questions--things that come so naturally to us when we're young.

I long to tap into this aspect of the child-mind once again.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Cosmic Indifference

Today, I enjoyed quality time with myself for the first time in a while.

The past week I was living my life for other people, putting their interests and desires above my own. For what reason, I know not. No more of that.

Today I resolved to start living for myself again, and the things I did today, I think, served as healthy little steps in the right direction.

I went to Bluestockings, a small, independent book store in the Bowery centered around queer studies, activism, and general rebellion. I browsed their selection and made note of writers I want to read--Alice Walker and Amber L. Hollibaugh among them. I sat and read a book I purchased from a thrift store earlier, Ways of Reading, deconstructing the writing process and ideas of Gloria E. AnzaldĂșa while enjoying the store's tasty one-dollar coffee. I fell in love with the place. I'm going back tomorrow for a reading.

After a good while, I left and allowed myself to wander aimlessly, allowing only my stomach to guide me to a suitable restaurant.

Though I should be trying to save money, I cast all inhibitions aside and treated myself to a rather expensive dish of something, the name of which I cannot pronounce nor remember. It contained tomatoes and chiles and two eggs and green stuff that was in a lot of the dishes in Poland (not the green stuff that I hate, the other green stuff) and probably lots of other ingredients, and it was served with a pita. I enjoyed my meal while reading the free copy of Girls Like Us Magazine that I'd picked up from Bluestockings.

After finishing up, I stepped back out into the street, enjoying the feeling of the warm air on my skin (for once, it didn't rain). I took pictures on my phone of things that made me smile. I marveled at the fact that the city remains alive and bustling even on a Sunday night.

I thought of a woman who lived in the area--the woman who, on Thursday night, gave me a squished piece of Lindt chocolate and kissed my eyebrows and tied me up and made me weep, and then made me a breakfast of eggs and espresso in the morning.

As I waited to cross Kenmare Street, I looked at a tall, lit-up building in the distance and then I down at my bag and my feet. I assessed my situation. In my younger days, I would never have pictured myself ending up where I was in that moment. Never, ever could I have pictured it. I felt proud of the person I have become--not 100 percent proud, but much prouder than I've felt lately. I felt happy. Elated, even. I have ended up somewhere within the realm of where I wanted to be at this age.

There is no need for me to be restless and to want to move on. I am here, I am already here--exactly where I need to be.

Sunday, June 16, 2013


Yesterday I took pictures of interesting sights on the city streets. I visited MOMA because it's free on Friday nights. I met up with Olivia, who I hadn't seen in ages.

Bloody Primates on 57 Street

A group was doing a demonstration on Air France's transportation of animals to laboratories where they become test subjects.

Annnnd then this dog tried to carry away one of the stuffed animals they were using. Haha.

Vibrance on St. Mark's


Two women protesting MOMA's lack of support for female artists -- "MOMA opens, but not to women artists"

Saturday, June 8, 2013

Rainstorm growing pains

I feel like a foreigner
in my own country
as I make my way
I wonder, where is my home anyway?
Where can I find it?
It'd be nice if someone
could point me somewhere
and tell me to stay put,
I think as I slog through the tunnels
in your purposefully-decimated boots.
Slish, slosh,
they are filled with puddles.
I look at my reflection
in the window of the bus
as I confront this old, familiar feeling
made new in light of jarring information.
What am I doing.
Why am I doing it.
Will I continue to
torture myself this way.
I want to be your best friend,
I tell my reflection.
You don't need anyone else.
Fuck 'em all---look what they've done to you.
I gave my last five-dollar bill
to the friendly bus driver
and before that
I gave one to a man
who told me
that he was schizophrenic
and recited a poem.
A self-conscious man
stomps his boots
in an attempt to be noticed.
Another broken wine bottle
adorns the floor
with its shards of glass.
Don't try to comfort me.
Don't try to reassure me
with pats on the back.
You're part of the problem,
and I hate myself for letting you into
my life
so willingly--
I've crossed borders
for you.
It was bound to happen eventually.
I realize that
you're just as unhealthy as me
and wonder whether this
is comforting
or disconcerting.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

A few things

These past few days
I've learned a few things
that I'd like to share:
I am overly attached to my personal library,
inspiration can be found absolutely everywhere,
painting is a beautiful exercise,
and it is easier to feel sexy
without a bra.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

First day here

Moved in yesterday. Am I questioning my decisions? Yes. Am I wondering how I'm going to survive all of this without a plan? (I'm groping for one.) Yes.

But, as silly as it sounds, I have this feeling that everything will turn out a-okay.