[5179]

[5179]

if everyone is buying houses and having babies I guess maybe I’ll spend my life being in school and learning and studying. like I felt a small modicum of shame about that like maybe I should ‘grow up’ and face the real world and not hide behind academia, but the real world was never an option for me anyway

[the-night-picture-collector]

Robert Adams, Summer Nights, Walking: On the Colorado Front, 1976 - 1982

[5179]

I’m freaking out remembering that this is inside all of us. and this is the basis of life pumping like an engine in living beings.. I really understand Victor Frankenstein now like it feels so strangely mechanical

[5179]

the worst part about living in new york is this underlying fear that i'm never capitalizing enough on being continuously in the midst of the exact concentrated specialness that entranced all the great writers and artists and creatives and films and tv. all the days i spent walking down lexington when i lived on the upper east side could have become a joan didion essay or a gossip girl episode but i made nothing of it. every morning getting ready and going to school at union square, gazing out at the empire state building when i'm up late at the school library, summer internship in the classic midtown skyscrapers on 5th avenue, taking the 1 train and thinking of asap rocky, my favorite bookstore in the lower east side that childish gambino immortalized in my teenage brain, walking past the comedy cellar to go to amc only for the comedy cellar to be a central location in the movie i watch that day, even in avengers there's a scene right outside the coffee shop by my house, coming home to put on my comfort tv shows, 30 rock, the mindy project, friends, seinfeld, kimmy schmidt, and they're all exactly where i was all day, it's endless... i don't know what to make of it all. i feel this nervous energy buzzing in me all the time knowing i'm in the Beautiful place and the historic place and so much has happened here and keeps happening and keeps getting immortalized and i feel the desire to drink from this fountain as well, i want to create something out of all of this, i want all of this to have meant something in the end

[ageofheaven33]

Spanish archaeologist Manuel Esteve posing with a Corinthian helmet he found back in 1938.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Misty view of the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan, 1922-24.

Photo: Consuelo Kanaga via the Brooklyn Museum

[petaltexturedskies]

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

[kafk-a]

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Peaceful Kissena Park, Flushing, May 29, 1954.

Photo: Frank Oscar Larson via frankloscarlarsonphotos.com

[04k96]

Via

[5179]



My eyes are burning with sunscreen, I just walked around in rainy Soho with my dark blue umbrella and Sezane tote bag with the pretty dark blue illustrations, and it’s my first time using a tote bag in probably years and years, because although I collect them they’ve always struck me as too flimsy and delicate whilst I required something more structured and practical, like a child strapped into a booster seat, but last week when I ventured outside on a 92 degree day shortly before the first thunderstorm of the season came rocketing down, my practical Baggu got bird poop on it at the precise moment all my friends sang happy birthday to me with a huge chocolate cake in Madison Square Park, sweaty and damp, which was such a complete surprise because I didn’t consider these people to be my friends, not really, but graduate school brings you together in strange ways. So now i’m using this tote bag and it feels like I’ve somehow elevated past the Baggu level of life, and now I’m a girl who gets sung happy birthday, and who uses a tote bag and an umbrella when she used to be content with simply getting wet. I’m sitting next to a tree in this cafe that looks like the Apple Store and has low clubby music playing and everyone around me happens to be the most beautiful and fashionable person I’ve ever seen. I feel like crying because it’s my last month in New York and I’m emailing back and forth to pay thousands to move all my belongings back to California, feeling like I’ve failed to make it here, but also maybe my eyes are just stinging because of the sunscreen I foolishly wore on a rainy day

[minarachelle]

Ermitage Saint-Antoine de Galamus, France - 2017

[joeinct]

Aerial view over George Washington Bridge, Photo by Ann Treer, 1961

[5179]

many objectively beautiful, pure, good things about home - it is California after all - would be so easy - let it all happen, come back - but its like the entire bay feels tinged with this weird sad nostalgia. so many darkest times and happy times all across the peninsula, growing up, falling in love, losing friends, decades of growing pains, and coming back would make me feel like i’m trapped in the past forever somehow. even being back here for a few weeks is so confusing and painful, like objectively so much going for it with daily weather that would have everyone throwing nonstop block parties in nyc, but symbolically, emotionally, very dark and tainted in my eyes, I can’t imagine settling down in the same sphere I grew up in and then just die. like this is all I saw and all I knew. I feel so lost

[5179]

well I was hoping in the following five months after writing this I would find a job in new york but instead prodigal son returns home etc etc. there is so much writing and music about returning home to California for some reason.. of course the most iconic being Didion's Goodbye to All That. that is the theme of my life now in my last month here.. Goodbye to All This

I miss you / I'm going back home to the west coast

California here we come / Right back where we started from

[wildflowerdaysi]

By Michael Menefee

[5179]

I had a dream that this man seemed falsely nice but I could tell he enjoyed having control over women, and then he came to talk to me, and he false-nicely offered me a lollipop, but it was a thin sliver of a lollipop, an almost finished one, gross and sticky, and when I refused I could see him gearing up to try to coerce me to take it, put it directly in my mouth, I clamped my jaw shut and clenched all my muscles and he put his arm around my neck, trying to encompass me with his size and strength, all I could do was exert all my power to resist while he jammed the sharp sticky edge of the lollipop against my lips, it was so infuriating and I woke in a rage. Clearly this was a metaphor my subconscious had kindly constructed for me but i’m disappointed in how overt the symbolism was, could I not have been any more creative with it..