AnasAbdin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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shark vs the universe
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Acquired Stardust
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izzy's playlists!
styofa doing anything

@theartofmadeline
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Kaledo Art
cherry valley forever

Love Begins
todays bird

oozey mess
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United States

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@erikfrobom
i have no mouth yet i must kiss you
http://menitrust.tumblr.com/post/171380852792/
“entering the clubhouse with your non-initiated pal”Â
OCT 2017
That night there was a home football game at my old high school. I went with Ben and we sat in front of my 9th grade biology teacher, who’s son must have been in the game, and that woman and another she was with kept swearing under their breath as the Haslett team failed to move the ball and the DeWitt team, our school’s rivals, prevailed. Fuck, the teacher said. It was the third quarter now and Haslett was down by three touchdowns and three field goals. I asked Ben if he was ready to head out.
In town I thought we should knock on the chapter-house in that neighborhood. It was a while before anyone answered my knock. When we entered we were greeted by a few men of the chapter, to whom I had to prove that I was indeed a member, and then introduced Ben as “my friend, he’s unaffiliated.” We were fairly immediately given Labatt Blues, which is a light beer popular there. The house had that old, many times painted over look, and smelled of smoke. I looked at some of the memorabilia on the walls. One of the fraternity guys there looked a lot like the high school band director Ben and I had, who must have been present at the football game we had left an hour earlier. I said to Ben, hey that guy looks like Mr. G minus twenty years. Ben said, omigod, that is very true.
. . . Kelly, I sent you a picture of a crack in the sidewalk that looked like a silhouette of an erect penis ejaculating, which I had taken just off the curb in the lot behind P.T. O’Malley’s. I went home and watched an episode of The Office and fell asleep on a too-small couch. Since Genevieve and I went to Michigan last march my sister had taken over my old bedroom again with her art
. . . Early the next morning My dad delivered me to the Lansing airport. I said goodbye to him and then went inside. I stripped and was groped by the TSA. As I put on my shoes, a tingling sensation took hold in my ballsack where I had been checked for dangerous objects.
Wolfgang Tillmans Wäscheberg, 2012 David Zwirner
I am doing painting more often now. I have a twitch <https://www.twitch.tv/plastic_goth/ > where i’ve started doing streaming sessions with web acquaintances. See you there.
What I had to say about winter, 2016
When I arrived at the Detroit airport I greeted my father and sister. Dad drove us to the Michigan town of Ypsilanti, “one of those places progress forgot”, which is also home to a supremely phallic water tower. We had a lunch at a diner there where I could feel I certainly was no longer in New York City, for the look and sound of things. Afterward Dad took us around for some of his “perverted sightseeing”.
These were the wrecks of factories-become-rubble and the square mileage of flat concrete where they once stood. He pointed out one such pile of refuse to be the site of the Willow Run facility which churned out B-24 “Liberator” bombers, which helped to win World War Two. It has always been poignant to me, in an Ozymandian way, that much of the hardware that had gone out to see the world change by 1945 was manufactured in now negligible parts Michigan. I was then taking a creative writing class within the writing program at Pratt, which had emphasis on historical narratives, and readings included one called “The History of Bombing” which was a survey of the historical and societal implications of mass destruction via high explosive and airplanes, and such a pilgrimage to dead factories felt appropriate then.
At thanksgiving Aunt Elaine, a Jewish woman originally from New York City, said something along the lines of, “it has been many years since I have visited New York and on my last visit I found little reason why I should return.” That the grit she had come from had been buffed out of the city that now is. It hurts a little to have older people insult “your” New York as being more polished, or less authentic, but I say, “whatever”. Better to have our urban spaces rearranged by Starbucks polity than by bombs. My cousin, who served in Iraq or Afghanistan(?) discussed his to-be-published(?) book about surviving governmental collapse(?) with something like agricultural knowledge and assault rifles(?) while making a million dollars or at least 800,000 (?) from book sales. Another cousin is graduating high school this spring with many honors and a fully stitched up varsity jacket, and that is how the Dutch wing of my family is doing. Â
When the semester fizzled out I returned to Michigan for Christmas. I rode my bicycle around until it snowed too much for that. I went to the Walmart and bought a nice-fitting blue shirt for thirteen dollars. I put the shirt on in front of the tall mirror in my parents’ bedroom and thought a brief prayer for the overseas factory worker who made it. I wore the cheap shirt for dinner one night and Dad remarked, “That is a beautiful shirt. Where can I get a shirt like that.” I referred him to Walmart, his favorite, and some days later he got the same shirt from Walmart.
Dad has a copy of a new book detailing in photographs and words the story of the restoration of an old steam-powered locomotive, which was kept captive on the campus of Michigan State University until its restoration by a student club my father was a part of. He opened the book to a photo of a man who taught him and his college friends everything there was to know about the machinery, and a little about life in general, too.
. . .Â
so long as this particular human being has vocal chords, something uniquely new york city lives
my taste in music has collapsedÂ
This fifth floor office has large windows that look over the southwest corner of 5th avenue and 31st. The view from these make the tightly gridded nature of the city less awesome and more ridiculous: spatially, there is no way to look down the length of the other streets, so there is nothing to see other than the corners and sides of other buildings. Between them, doll-sized people waddle around in the sun dodging automotive traffic. They do not have eyes, only brows.
Music i like right now
https://soundcloud.com/gothboiclique/sets/castles-ii Lil Peep & Lil Tracy - Castles II https://youtu.be/XvH2sHDrLsQ Pärson Sound - Pärson Sound
last weekend went outÂ
sought 47th reg. armoryÂ
Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
This is from two years ago. I used to make crude maps of places I wanted to go in unfamiliar neighborhoods of New York City. I would go to the school computer lab in the morning and sketch them based on maps found online. It took some time but it was worth it for not getting irretrievably lost.Â
Last summer I got a smartphone and the online maps are with me, so I don’t need to draw them by hand. It is seemingly less romantic to squint into a display than it is to unfold a piece of paper. I am unsure which interface is the more “authentic” urban exploration experience. Glowing glass, or paper?
I was reunited with the artifact above when I visited a friend--the same one that I made the trip with back then. It is pinned to her wall. It was funny to see the map made into memorabilia. The same information is still tracked by satellites with a bead on the phone I now carry around, but as relatively perfect data, and not artifact.Â
real fratboy’s don’t cuff there pantlegs
haha this song, this movie
More:Â https://www.flickr.com/photos/lemon_boy/collections/72157678936340334/