fuck and kiss you both at the same time

goodbye greenpoint. i will miss your tree-lined streets, the familiar friendly faces and sweet babes at my coffee-shop haunts, my view of the chrysler building on the corner of india and franklin, and your polish charms.
i will miss the greenpoint pantheon.
but most of all, i will miss the "pussy ham."
williamsburg, you will be mine.

i'm breakin' my back but it's all good

the feel-fucking-fantastic song of the moment

maneuvering winter

his clancyness mistify the ocean
arch m 21st union
animal collective i think i can
foreign born blood oranges
the temper trap sweet disposition
beach house norway
real estate fake blues

dark are the nights

black contrasts nicely with the warm glow of candles, moving taxi taillights, long exposures, setting suns, tv illumination, and harsh camera flashes.

dear new york,

i believe we got off to the wrong start, but i want you to know i am going to make things right. in continuing in the vein of being honest and assertive (in order to not become resentful), i feel as though you've gone out of your way to make things difficult for me. from my living situation, to my worthless job, to my achey feet from hustling through your streets, to my grumbling stomach and weightless wallet that constantly suffer emptiness; you had dampened my spirit. i knew that you weren't going to be an easy one to win over, but i did not expect the level of cruelty in which you exerted. however, new york, with that off my chest, you need to know that i won't be giving up without a fight. i am determined to make this relationship work, because i think that we could be beautiful together. i'm not asking much of you, i will take initiative and put in all the effort; i just ask that you cooperate, and if you're feeling generous, let me catch a break every once in a while.

with ever growing love,
lauren
dan deacon, where have you been all my life? snookered & build voice

testing, testing

new years eve: new camera (finally), spontaneous visits (simple joy), "visible sack" (can you spot it? how can you not?), oviesse sweater (got around), no diggity (no doubt) radio requests, mid-air strikes (the most exercise we've had in months), bird impressions (including, but not limited to turkeys), boy-band poses (brent, guilty as charged), and most importantly, bologna sandwiches. (boobs 4 quartrs, 4 eva.)

my spirit's alive, i want you to know

i'm all about this bad-ass jam right now. it's. just. so. cool. and loud. sleigh bells crown on the ground

strong drinks, dancing, rocky horror picture show, fog, charming dj's, discrete entrances, leather booths, blood red walls, with bartenders with aesthetics reminiscent of early mcjagger, st. jerome's in the l.e.s. is pretty rock n' roll/my most recent drawing, which is hardly recent/my half visible face, pale and stark, i spend a lot of time underground.

brooklyn can you hear me?

i'm coming home.
hoop dreams putting a skip in my step

copycats

they say that imitation is the highest form of flattery... so i guess that's why all these bitches keep stealing my shit. eloquently put, i know.