sad city, usa @sadcityusa - Tumblr Blog

Posts

it's friday night. my dog sleeping on my feet. a fresh cup of tea has been poured. I'm listening to ethel cain and working on an essay about Van Gogh, exoplants, star dust, and the meaning of life. even while trump wants to overwhelm us with chaos and fear only a few days into his presidency, I'm grateful for these little joys that exist nonetheless.

whatever happens these next years, don't give in to the horrors. acts of joy, of art, of love, are all acts of resistance <3

#art #trump

madonna-of-the-wasps

listening to the new ethel cain album from here (mentally, emotionally :) I'm so glad she released something just in time for my strange winter and these dark surreal times we're living through. I love her brain, artistry, and the haunting and otherworldly sounds she conjures through the layers of music she creates.

#music #ethelcain #perverts

#poetry #writing #zines #prints #nostalgia #film

the season of unknowing is here it's already begun

october brings a balm after summer's violent heat. i'm ready for walks on damp cool earth in golden light when the air smells like sweet decay.

#october #fall #autumn #writing

it's springtime in texas and I forgot to consider the bluebonnets would still bloom during an apocalypse

on hope, friendship + tiny revolutions

i'm so curious—what's moved you lately? a song, a book, a conversation you overheard?

when I first started drafting this a few weeks ago I wrote, “i’ve hit that midwinter stretch where everything seems grey and i'm trying to remember the warmth of other seasons where the sun fades out later in the evening, what it felt like when i stood in a room and could feel like a whole person...but then again, in reality, have i ever felt that? idk.

i'm trying to remind myself spring hits faster in texas than it does in the midwest. in a month it'll be wildflower season again; bluebonnets popping up in place of my late winter malaise. i like to think all the spots in my brain that feel covered in moss right now will be replaced with pink evening primrose, indian paintbrush, the soft hues of prairie verbena." but now? it's march! my birthday is this week. i woke up yesterday with a lightness i haven't felt since last fall. i saw the sun rise, caught a yellow flower in my yard in early bloom, the new life of a tiny grasshopper sitting on a leaf. it was a small moment but it was all mine. all at once, peace. all at once, a reminder of the cycle of renewal and release.

in my last real entry in 2019, i said:

the last time i wrote to you on here i was in chicago. it was…2017, I think? i was living in wicker park and it was winter and we were all cold and sad because trump and because our favorite DIY space in logan square closed down and because everything was so hard and lonely for all of us that someone even opened a coffee shop in ukrainian village with the theme ‘the cold war’ and i thought fuck, that’s so bleak. ... but i want to know—are you finding beauty in the darkness? are you experiencing the light, the softness, the sweetness somewhere in this dystopian reality we live in?

two years earlier, in 2017, I wrote:

in the mornings and late at night I’ve been painting with acrylics using colors from memories I don’t have photographs of anymore, taping parts of my writings to the wall to prove to myself not all of this is just in my head—that these thoughts and feelings, experiences and memories are tangible things I can hold and see in front of me.

I’ve been thinking of getting a small or medium sized happy pet, thinking of adventures I want to go on when the weather gets nice, thinking about work and all that’s coming in the next few months but

of course

none of this is without concern and worry about everything happening in america. every day the headlines make me physically nauseous but I feel unable to look away - partly because my job requires me to keep up with the daily content grind but also because I just cant NOT read the news right now. .... that’s all for now. i hope wherever you are you feel warm and loved and have some sort of passion inside of you that this world won’t strip away

I share this now because the world feels more fucked than it did in 2019. and in 2017. and i wonder if in 2024 I'll feel the same way about 2022. like i look back at those entries and scoff at my past self like, biiiitch, are you for real? you don't even know...

the point? I'm not sure if things are going to get better.

still, in moments from past years when the world felt like it was caving in, there was still small streams of hope, love, beauty to be found.

but it's easy to say that when you're speaking from a place of comfort/safety while many people don’t have it or are in the process of losing it. i recently read this from lordcowboy and it resonated with me:

I’m thinking that it is not enough to be grateful. For the people who weren’t dealt a good hand, I honor the privilege of my life. I do that by helping the world around me, and I think each of us should decide what that looks like for ourselves. I do not help as if someone else is keeping score. I am not threatened or shamed into helping. I also honor the privilege of my life by actively dismantling anxiety and doubt that attempts to paralyze me into doing nothing. I seize the life I am given day to day, and I charge. If something calls me to get out of bed, I don’t discourage it: I answer to it. I think to myself: there is someone who would make the sweetest lemonade out of the fruit you already have, if only they had it too. Pursuing my dreams and activating what I love is contagious, it spreads, it is a tiny revolution.

this speaks to me on such a profound level.

before the pandemic began I spent most of my life living out of my backpack, owning very little other than boxes of art supplies, books, photographs, and other momentos. i thrived on being unknown in new places, establishing new routines, learning the vibe and language of different spaces, forcing myself to make friends wherever I landed (esp as a recovering shy/introverted child), and finding so much wisdom in the landscapes, people, and moments i came across or found myself in, however small or insignificant they seemed. then, of course, the pandemic hit and all of that joy I found in being untethered came to a halt and i learned to embrace stillness, seeking light and excitement somewhere within the comforts of familiarity.

some people thought my former inability to stay in one place was a sign of things like instability, a desire for chaos (isn't it funny how people love to try to mold you to their limited beliefs with fear and convince you to embrace self doubt?) but in reality, in all of those moments, i often thought of (still do) of my father and brother, how their lives were cut short; how my brother, especially, missed out on so much—life, possibility. these were two people who, as the passage above says, were not dealt a good hand. I like to think I honor the privilege of my life for myself, for the younger, smaller self that had to overcome grief and being orphaned at a tender age, but also for the family that lost it all—literally, their lives. it would be easy to dig deep into that pain and cast a light of cynicism and bitterness into an already darkened world but for what? isn't that letting 'them' win?

I move towards the light where my heart opens like a flower—I watch the way I feel when I'm in the world, alone and with others, and I let it guide me all the way home.

I like to think each place, each person I come across is a teacher of mine. ⁣this is a lesson I taught myself years ago as a teenager while navigating learning how to be an adult with no guidance, family support, etc. it's not always easy, it doesn't happen with every single person, obviously. but i think that's why I'm always trying to write my life down before it’s too late.

i honor the privilege of my life, however long or short it may be. i honor the connections i make, however fleeting they may be. i stay open, share love, forgive the faults of my own and others, and seek the light wherever I may find it. that alone is a tiny revolution.

full moon in scorpio

it’s finally that time of year again— the smell of jasmine, lavender, honeysuckle blooms, eucalyptus, ferns, thistles, and troubled summer storms. i’m trying to remember all the summers that came before. i’m trying to meditate on what could be different this time around. in a post-covid fully vaccinated life what could be possible? my magic 8 ball says ‘better not tell you now.’ i’m taking its word for it.

it’s only april in texas but on some afternoons it feels like you could close your eyes and touch the balmy sticky sweetness of evenings in mid-july. getting closer to the lushness of a full season in bloom; it’s almost within reach.

this weekend I’m camping on the seashore. this weekend I’m putting the phone away.

what are you listening to? what’s keeping you up at night? i’ve been finding myself returning to experimental sound collages, minimalist classical and ambient music to bathe the night. a recent favorite:

#personal #ambient #writing

timnapoleon

We’re all just little stardust in the wind. Maybe that’s why it feels so good to look up at the stars. Every atom in your body is begging to go home.

Koty Neelis, “Why We Should All Look At The Stars More Often” (via timnapoleon)

10.15.19

an early morning recently in new mexico where I caught the earth catching its first light of the day.

the air smells like jasmine tonight. the radio is on and everything is cool. I’m listening to some old favorite songs and thinking of all the octobers that have come before.

‘two autumns and I have not changed enough’ is a line from a poem saul williams wrote a long time ago that has resonated with me since I first read it when I was 19.

this autumn I’m thinking of that poem once more and considering the weight of its words. so much of my life has been spent in anticipation of the next thing. I’m not afraid to admit I’m a dreamer, a romantic, always longing for something out there even when I don’t know what that is exactly. I used to feel like I had so much to prove—to myself, to people I didn’t even know—to say that, yes, I, too, belong here.

but for the first time in my life I feel pretty okay with how things are right now. it’s october. I’m back in austin. it’s only been a few days and I’ve spent most of my time here in solitude, in quiet reflection, contemplating the next few months, the next year, considering all the ways this life of mine can go.

I’m in hopeful wonder, curious and open, yes, but I’m not aching to fill a void any longer. in LA I felt paralyzed with anxiety on most nights, forever in angst if the choices I were making were right, but something has shifted since i’ve left. some things still need to be figured out but I feel content with recent decisions and actions. I’m right where I need to be.

this season I don’t need to worry about changing anymore. it’s about tending to what I already have and expanding the life I’ve built.

this time back in austin, now my 3rd time moving here, feels different. I’m trying to be more intentional with my energy, the people I spend time with, the things I give my focus to. it’s not that I think I’m doing anything ‘better’ this time around, just different. so if you don’t see me around, don’t worry, I’m still here and I’m doing quite well, I promise. :)

#personal

09.16.19—5 things

los angeles // 1 a.m. // some random ambient playlist 1. the last time i wrote to you on here i was in chicago. it was...2017, I think? i was living in wicker park and it was winter and we were all cold and sad because trump and because our favorite DIY space in logan square closed down and because everything was so hard and lonely for all of us that someone even opened a coffee shop in uk village with the theme ‘the cold war’ and i thought fuck, that’s so bleak.

since then, things have changed. i changed jobs, changed zip codes, and all the things i’ve been working on are making slow but steady progress. i’m happy to be in los angeles, to be with friends I haven’t seen in a long time, to be making new ones, to feel less stagnant.

2. i want to know—are you finding beauty in the darkness? are you experiencing the light, the softness, the sweetness somewhere in this dystopian reality we live in? i hope you are. sometimes it feels dangerous to enjoy things right now because of the internet and its negativity towards everything but I think we still should.

i’ll go first.

lately I’ve been going up to the roof a lot of the artist colony I live in. it’s not the roof of my building but another building we all have access to. for some reason no one else really goes there. I go there sometimes at night, sometimes in the morning, and i have it all to myself. you have a good view of LA up there and it’s peaceful. when it’s not so smoggy you could even say it’s beautiful.

i wouldn't call myself a 'morning person' necessarily, but there's something about early mornings when the world is quiet and the sun is just starting its day that you feel like its all yours. it’s the same late at night too but in a different way.

and that’s how I feel when I’m up there. like there’s a lot of dumb things about LA that frustrate me but in the stillness of a day that’s just started or in the process of ending everything feels like it will be okay.

i feel most alive in small moments—conversations with good friends that last long into the night, bike rides at night, stories over a fire, sharing a really good meal with someone, catching that golden hour of light before dusk settles; those totally ordinary moments you have that later hold so much significance in how we remember people, places, and our lives.

more of that! it’s okay to enjoy things. it’s okay to have a quiet romanticism about the world. and if you know you have this too, somewhere deep down within you, hold onto it. it’s rare to find other people who understand the duality of life, who can find the beauty within the ugly, dark despair of the world.

3. i went on a date the other night with some hbo producer who met me for drinks in culver city and the whole thing was so strange and surreal and LA i couldn’t help but laugh when I got home. i realized the other night I can’t remember the last time I was in love with someone or the last time i even felt a real crush. and that’s okay. sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever experience those feelings again or if they were all just a mirage.

4. here’s the thing i’ve realized lately—i’m always waiting for it to rain. except the problem is that i live in los angeles. i finally get why it’s a bit peculiar to live somewhere without any real seasons. i’m living in an artist colony / DIY art house without any windows except some skylights. when I’m working or in the zone on something I can go an entire day without seeing how the day is changing outside and something about that I find bizarre and unnatural.

it’s like I wake up, I make coffee, I check the news, I water my plants, I call my mom, I get to my computer to write then I blink and suddenly the sun is setting and the whole day has gone by and how did i even interact with the world?

i was looking at the dust accumulating on my car the other day in the parking lot of my apartment and i thought, when was the last time I was in a rainstorm? like a really good one? austin, maybe? in early summer? yeah. some rainstorms are too good to forget.

5. somehow, somewhere out there the calendar changed. it’s september. it’s the middle of the month already. that means it’s almost october and I’ll be back in Austin. that means it’s nearly the holidays. then the year is over. just like that. what have we even been doing this whole time? how did you start the year? who were you with? i was at a dance party. i kissed my friend on the cheek and we laughed and hugged and drank champagne and said this year would be better than the last. it was one of those nights when you feel like you’re on the verge of every emotion all at once.

every so often i’m reminded how fast it all goes—this time we have with each other. this is a written reminder to myself to be more intentional with the people i share my life with. so if you do anything with the rest of 2019 i hope you’ll show up, i hope you’ll tell someone how you feel. i’ll try to do the same. let me know how it goes

#personal #5 things

i love:

mornings that start slow. coincidences. 7 a.m. writing sessions. turning the phone/laptop off. afternoons lost between books and bedsheets. snail mail. nightcaps. the state of melancholia. finding new music so good you just have to listen on repeat.

i hate:

not knowing where I stand with someone. moments of high anxiety created from almost nothing. feeling all at sea about something. a mind that can't seem to focus. phone calls left unanswered.

1/27/17

It’s almost 9 and I’m laying in bed reading the news before I have to get ready to leave and go to some art party in chinatown in a warehouse where ive been told theres music and a hot tub and free drinks and none of that i really care about but i should probably leave my house at least once this weekend

I haven’t written anything on here in a long time, but I have been writing when I can steal quiet moments in the early mornings or late evenings after work. I’ve started working on a book exploring the concept of home, the landscapes and strangers that help us form a sense of self, and about my time as a nomad of sorts from 17-20 after my father passed when I traveled throughout the southwest and ended up in a small town in west texas for a couple years.

for now there’s life here in chicago, in wicker park, and it’s all been a bit boring but in a good way.

in the evenings I’ve been painting with acrylics using colors from memories I don’t have photographs of anymore, taping parts of my writings to the wall to prove to myself not all of this is just in my head—that these thoughts and feelings, experiences and memories are tangible things I can hold and I can see in front of me.

of course

tomorrow i will wake up early to get coffee and drive two hours to my mother’s house. the world might be crazy right now but coming together in any way we can right now feels so needed.

that’s all for now. i hope wherever you are you feel warm and loved and have some sort of passion inside of you that this world won’t strip away

#personal #chicago #life

a collection of books photographed on my travels over the past year:

tulum // mexico // march

brooklyn // nyc // april

miami // florida // may

brookyn // nyc // june

kalamazoo // michigan // night before a flight to paris // august

labastide-esparbairenque // france // september

#books #reading #travel #explore

welcome to my new slow motion entrance song

I've been in Austin for a few months now and despite doing as much as I can to find some resemblance of normalcy in this city, I haven't felt entirely like myself here. Everything has seemed surreal in many ways. Like an outtake from a David Lynch movie where everything is dreamy and weird and a bit off kilter. I am living in a company apartment that is probably nicer than any apartment I have ever lived. It's all stainless steel and white walls, cable TV and carefully arranged furniture. It's a home for someone living in the in-between, a glimpse into someone else's life I'd likely never live. Every company apartment I've ever stayed in is always the same - cold minimalism at its finest. I don't get it. You'd think housing for creative people would try to provide an atmosphere where creativity is encouraged, not stifled. I spend most of my days downtown and at night I come back and I put some music on, pour a glass of wine, and I think about what kind of life I can create here in a city so eager to rebuild and reconstruct every possible corner. I think Austin wants to appeal to the ones looking for their calling in a new land but I'm always weary of people and places who think they can find their rebirth in brand new shiny sky scrapers and artificially-crafted local charm.

a collection of last looks

The way I remember people is mostly through images and through pieces of conversations that ebb and flow in my mind. I can’t remember the grocery list I wrote out this morning but I can remember very particular details from a moment that happened ten years ago, two weeks ago, last night.

It’s the way someone looked when they thought no one was paying any attention to them at all, a graphic tee someone wore I thought was cool, an absence of conversation I had hoped would happen but didn’t, the way someone hesitated before speaking.

I collect these moments in my brain and reflect on them later, trying to piece together how a situation happened the way it did, the way a relationship formed or failed, or just to relive a particular moment that seemed emotionally significant (or insignificant).

I’m a big fan of remembering last looks – the way someone looked the last time I saw them. And also last words. It’s the last memory of my father who looked out at the farm land and said “everything has its season” a month before he died, or a failed romantic encounter from last year who stood in my doorway and told me “thank you for making me feel comfortable.” It’s too bad that last words, last memories often lie in a residual sadness well to later be picked up and thought of again in moments of nostalgia and reflection.

Memories are the way we tell stories back to ourselves to remember we’ve lived a life worth telling at all. It’s the process of remembering we’re human – moments weaving in and out of our brains, coming to surface at the strangest times, and other times disappearing into a space we’ll never be able to come back to again.

I guess that’s why whenever I say goodbye to someone I love I try to make a conscious effort to remind them of the gratitude I feel towards them. This doesn’t always happen, of course, but I guess if I end up in a collection of someone’s last words, last looks I hope I’ve made a small amount of difference in their life. And isn’t that the only thing we can ask for in the connections we make?

#love

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

sad city, usa