Kiana Khansmith
Game of Thrones Daily
Sade Olutola
Today's Document
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)
oozey mess
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Origami Around
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
wallacepolsom
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
noise dept.
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@nygcollective
I’m trying to figure out what worlds exist for us because much of our history has been washed away, as history is told from the perspective of the victor. Black people have fallen on hard times, true…but that doesn’t mean our stories are linear and plain. It’s quite the contrary.
From our recent interview with student, director and award-winning playwright Phanesia Pharel. Check out the full conversation on our website now!
Phanesia Pharel is a student, director, and playwright. Her plays have been recognized with multiple awards, including “Critics Choice” at the Miami Thespian Festival and “Best of…
"I’m trying to figure out what worlds exist for us because much of our history has been washed away, as history is told from the perspective of the victor. Black people have fallen on hard times, true…but that doesn’t mean our stories are linear and plain. It’s quite the contrary." - Phanesia Pharel
We recently had the opportunity to interview student, director, and award-winning playwright Phanesia Pharel on the importance of telling our own stories, why we need to increase diversity in writing, and the liberation associated with sharing one's work. Check it out on our website now!
A SONNET FOR STRUGGLING AND STRIVING BODIES Sometimes from creatures ripe and ancient, this bizarre query journeys up to my ears: “What shaped you, child?” I pause to reminisce before I say: “The b…
“’What shaped you, child?’ I pause to reminisce before I say: ‘The brutal slate, which fears me now- the bloodthirsty concrete, which gored my spine and crumbled shale into my eyes. From under stone, my bones and soul have soared, refusing to accept erasure. Lies, like being told I am less, light my fire.’”
- Sarah Toscano, “A Sonnet For Struggling and Striving Bodies”. Read more of Sarah’s poetry on our website now.
A Sonnet For Struggling and Striving Bodies
by Sarah Toscano
Sometimes from creatures ripe and ancient, this bizarre query journeys up to my ears: “What shaped you, child?” I pause to reminisce before I say: “The brutal slate, which fears me now- the bloodthirsty concrete, which gored my spine and crumbled shale into my eyes. From under stone, my bones and soul have soared, refusing to accept erasure. Lies, like being told I am less, light my fire. I yearn to speak the truth with my scarred skin, and for my wounds to croon, sing like a choir, enchanted melodies about the sin of lusting for my mind and body’s cage, when both deserve self-rule to love and rage.
Read more of Sarah’s poetry on our website now.
Every Time I Do This by Spencer George
We are young, we are in love. We are swinging on the bench by the pier. I want nothing
more than this. I know you want it too. I know that there is a part of you that has always wanted it. We don’t always receive the things we think we deserve.
I know you are hungry. I am too. I have been hungry for years. It is more than physical, more than longing. This hunger runs bone deep; unforgiving.
I have been like this for as long as I can remember. Drenched in salt, left to cure in the sun. There are still so many things wrong, so many wounds
to be closed. We are young, we are in love. We are lying in the ankle-deep parts of the ocean, the waves warm and washing over us. I want to open my mouth, to swallow the sea whole. I want to drown alone
in a pool of light. You move your leg and the wet sand flings up over our bodies, dusting them in dirt. When you turn your head to look at me, there are particles of it between your teeth, your smile dark
and dirty. I want to press my fingers to your cheek, want to tell you about all I know of the world. I want to tell you this story without you having to be a part of it.
I want you to exist in this narrative only as an outsider, as a body lingering for a moment too long. I want to ask you what happiness looks like when it’s earned, when it’s endless. But I can’t, I don’t.
Instead I turn my head away from you, look over at the other side of the horizon where the world grows dark each afternoon. I know you’re frowning behind me, wondering why I always do this.
Why, every time, I do this. I know. I am wondering it too.
We are young, we are in love. We are swinging on the bench by the pier. I want nothing more than this. I know you want it too. I know that there is a part of you that has always wanted it. We don’t…
“We are young, we are in love. We are lying in the ankle-deep parts of the ocean, the waves warm and washing over us. I want to open my mouth, to swallow the sea whole. I want to drown alone
in a pool of light.”
- Spencer George, “Every Time I Do This”. Read the rest of this poem on longing and avoidance on the site now.
Emma Noelle is a student and photographer based in New York City. Originally from Manila, Emma specializes in portraiture and documentary photography, using analog mediums to evoke poetry and tell …
We recently had the chance to interview student and photographer Emma Noelle. Check out the full conversation on art, activism, and whether creation can act as an antidote to hatred on our website now!
Student and photographer Emma Noelle from our recent interview with her. Check out the full conversation on controversy in art, whether artists have a duty to create political art, and whether creation can be an antidote to hatred on our website now.
Try as much as possible to be painfully honest with your art.
Student and photographer Emma Noelle, from our recent interview with her. Check out the conversation on art, activism, and whether artists have a duty to combine politics and creation on our website now!
On any given day in New York City, there are an estimated 8,537,673 people. In the grand scheme of things, I am only another one of them. Like everyone else in this city, I’m filled constantl…
“Or, I do, but I know I’ll never be able to own up and do it. I can own up to what I want, but I’ll never trust myself enough to go after it, to take a leap. If I feel constantly like my life lacks meaning, I know it is ultimately my own fault. But I am haunted by possibility, terrified of what I might have to do to find that meaning.
Leave my bed. Leave my apartment. Leave my headphones behind. Talk to people. Go places alone. Talk to more people. Open up about who I am. Go to meetups. Go to concerts. Talk to people. Take my headphones out. Stop cancelling plans. Not use apathy as a means of protection. Not rely on coldness to keep me from getting hurt. Talk to people. Live. Live. Live.”
-Spencer George, from her essay, “You Too Can Life a Life Like Mine” published on Not Your Girl.
I want to care more. I want to be more. I know I can. I know it’s possible. I know that if someone asked me to tell them my story, I would do it, and at the end, I would feel feather-light, empty of words. I think about that feeling a lot. I bet it feels amazing.
Spencer George, from her essay “You Too Can Have a Life Like Mine” published on our website. Check out the full text here!
I REMEMBER I remember the first time I knew my mom was sick. I brought her homemade Rice Krispie treats. She looked different lying in bed like that. I remember honey milk soap. And rain hitting th…
“I remember hearing that David Bowie died. I was drinking milk out of a wine glass. I cried for five hours. My dad asked if I was okay.
I remember being okay.
I remember being not okay.
I remember lying in bed with my sister. I was worried that the doctors were right.I remember lying in bed with my sister. I remember feeling her breathe next to me.
We were so small. I felt warm. I felt happy.”
- Juliet Larsen, from her poem “I Remember”, live on the site now.
Cactus unmoving in the wind / dust cracking under our toes. / This is avoidance. This is memory. The divide / too distended to cross. You must know you can / not come. Your grained legs always pulling / you back. Keeping our bodies from lingering / leaving our bones to divorce / to split into bark.
Spencer George, “Long Division”. Read the rest of this haunting poem on the website now.
Every time I disappear An attrition, a hollowing They come acidic, sharpened and stretched I come a miracle an ache Gutted and lunging for the ca…
"Break your back / or I'll do it for you. Break up your bones / give them / a rest. We all deserve it. We all want / the desert littered with hooves / with the hope / of disintegration."
- "Long Division", by Spencer George, live on the site now
I want a crowded airport in morning light. I want a car full of people, all moving in the same direction. I want to be always going forward, and never going back.
Spencer George, from her essay “Everything I Learned I Learning From Leaving’. Check it out on the site now.
“There is no travel but the travel that concludes in shrieking with abandon, is there? – No. What you need is to remember what it felt like beforehand, that emptiness. Call up the pictu…
“And when you reach it, when you get to the other side and find it’s no different than before- well, then what? Then you vanish. Then you run. Then you disappear and leave it all behind again, hoping that somewhere, someplace, you can find the realization of that vision. That you can stop feeling the urge to disappear.”
- Spencer George, from her essay “Everything I Learned I Learned From Leaving”. Check it out on the site now.
Amanda Ba is an artist who hand-painted all of the clothing she is wearing in these photos. She was recently photographed by student and photographer Emma Noelle for NYG. Check out the rest of their gorgeous shoot on the site now: http://notyourgirl.org/?p=572.