Olivia

Wyndham Earl: What is your greatest fear, Major? Major Briggs:...

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 13:52:10 -0400

Wyndham Earl: What is your greatest fear, Major?

Major Briggs: The possibility that love is not enough.

" The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of..."

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 11:56:32 -0400

““ The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating…and you finish off as an orgasm! George Carlin (1937-2008)”

She denies your interpretation of her existence.

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 17:22:39 -0400

She denies your interpretation of her existence.

they

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 03:31:25 -0400

I wish I knew your secrets. dreams would be broken into.

what do you dream about right before you fall asleep?

where do you go the moment when you wake up?

I could be your first thought. I wish that i knew all your secrets. I could creep inside the labyrinth of your inner ear. you are hopelessly…….

Photo

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 12:56:36 -0400

There is a Human Being

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 18:10:00 -0400

Today my friend sent me his journal entries, he did this in a very passive way, but I knew what he was attempting to do. And I’ve felt that way before too. They were so lonely and distressed and so truthful and intelligent and so completely absurd and so deserving of attention. But, alas, it seems like its so difficult to get the attention one wants, needs, or deserves. It also seems like one can’t get anyones attention anymore without acting frivolous or including tits and ass. so if wants to really see anything of substance you have to look in between the cracks.

An example of this is an unnamed individual, in an unnamed location, somewhere sitting at an unmarked desk, collecting his little unmarked items that will be set out for Free. I imagine him sitting at a desk right at this moment archiving. Silver Foxes 2. Why is Viagra for You?. Tantric Sex and How it can Improve your Life. Ninja Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles:The Music Videos. How to Survive a Knife Fight. The Coon Hunting Championships. The list goes on. Seemingly Inconsequential. These are history. These are nothings that obsess humanity and then are subsequently forgotten. These are trash that humans discard. The mental repositories of trivial debris. These are the urban archeologist looking through the trash bins of society. They are not the moments that are collected and cherished but the experiences we hide away. Instructional videos, childrens videos, forgotten stars. They are the things we forget but keep repressed.

These are the people I’d like to remember. The people that spend hours on important nothingness importantness. Obssesively. Hoping in the back of their mind that someone might appreciate their work.

This is my favorite thing ever.

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 16:31:00 -0400

This is my favorite thing ever.

I am a collector. I love thrift store trash. I am amused by...

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:29:31 -0400

I am a collector. I love thrift store trash. I am amused by squalor and old things. I also enjoy questionably trashy movies collected by a certain individual in some video store in someplace in the universe. I am also simultaneously attracted to the sharp geometric cleanliness of Bauhaus and functionalism. However this is an excellent of example of superfluous squalor that is not without a hint of humor, that i am inclined to like. On further inspection this monolisk has no apparent purpose. The items on it are without consequence and most likely would not even excite the most diligent thrift store enthusiast. That is why I enjoy this anomaly most of all. It seems to serve the purpose of existing for the sake of existing. which is a hell of a way to live. I applaud it and its flattened tires. And i marvel in its ability to move from street to street, even with its obvious and extremely apparent disabilities. It is the best and most enjoyable antidote to functional modernity. more artistic crap. yeay. it puts a whole new perspective on reuse and recycle.

Confrontation

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:27:00 -0400

I support confrontation. I dont specifically assume that everyone should follow this state of things. But since I always seem to be attracted to repressed people it seems to work. Which brings up the question if I myself am repressed? Well I had the most interesting evening last night. I went through all the range of emotions. Which ultimately ended in my ackward. Which then led to me creating an even more ackward situation. i always seem to do that. Slightly ackward seems an unbearable state for me to be in, I always have to bleed it to its full potential. Well, maybe, not quite full. But i am the budding confrontationist. It has not been until the past few months I have begun to appreciate the idea that this trait is not entirely such a bad thing. My meta state of analysis seems to know no bounds and this constant yet happy crisis I seem to be coming up with some relatively inspiring ideas. which includes burning obelisks of the future and of the past and the content spectre of the present who prides itself on laying on tar’s warm concrete. So Ive begun to assume that if i use my confrontations for the “greater good” (oh yes all great dictators have uttered these words) then in some way it might do more good than not.

Other thoughts of today: I feel so much love today I wish I could shower him/the interminable he with kisses.

Mortified

Fri, 30 May 2008 16:50:00 -0400

mor·ti·fy (môrt-f)v. mor·ti·fied, mor·ti·fy·ing, mor·ti·fies v.tr.1. To cause to experience shame, humiliation, or wounded pride; humiliate.2. To discipline (one’s body and physical appetites) by self-denial or self-inflicted privation.v.intr.1. To practice ascetic discipline or self-denial of the body and its appetites.2. Pathology To undergo mortification; become gangrenous or necrosed. Today I feel like number one on the definition above.

"We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck..."

Thu, 29 May 2008 12:37:33 -0400

“We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.”

- -John Waters

Nothing but gold comes out of that man’s mouth.
(via scout) (via taylorswaimphotography) (via louobedlam)

Little Richard at Jazzfest.

Mon, 12 May 2008 14:11:21 -0400

Little Richard at Jazzfest.

Video

Mon, 12 May 2008 14:09:53 -0400

I am in love.

Fri, 09 May 2008 22:11:00 -0400

I am in love with someone. But he doesn’ t know it. Sometimes I even forget. and then once or twice a week I will reminded when I go to his bookstore he owns with his brother, on the way back from the video store, where I get exactly two dvds. A bookstore that is carefully handpicked by only the most seasoned reader. Occasionally I will sneak peeks in his direction but I generally just am content with the fact that he exists. Like we are rehearsing the pre meeting scene in a french movie. He reminds me of a punk rock archetype, a sort of Syd Vicious charater that now resides in an old used bookstore on Sawtelle.

I love him like one would love a modeled/molded statue. I love him in a way only a spectator can love. Without stories and histories he is perfect. He is molded in my imagination. He is my created narrative. I concoct past lives and family histories and insert myself, only to dissapear into the accordion of time and history. I imagine we would have been lovers or friends in different times. Rejumbled, renfunctioned, and refashioned time. I gaze ito my projected identity that I have created for him and I love him even more because I know he has a life outside of what I’ve created and it is far greater and less magnificent than I’d care to believe.

Over my many years of infatuation I’ve picked up inserts of reality, either by direct conversation or his interactions with others. For example today, I gave him my customary raspy and small hello and then continued on to look at the recommended shelf that he and his brother have formed. Today an old man came stumbling in with a whole stack of books. *Object of Affection proceeded to give me a sheepish smile in passing and then help the old man with the books ( he was there to sell them). It was obvious this man came often to sell whatever books of any value from thrift stores he could find. But I was very touched by this very simple scene, both because of the casual nature of *object of affection but also the familiar body language they formed at the desk. And also the tone he took when the man placed small little squeeking rabbit on the table. The man with his lopsided body, the lowers much larger that the top, and his thick but small glasses that were placed under a hat and his pocket watch that peeked from his pants was throughly content to just sit there and talk all day. And even though *object of affection always seems to adopt an distracted tone to his voice I always see a hint of latent passion for these hum drum daily interactions.

Sometimes we speak more directly and we talk about photography. He shoots Leica and collects photobooks, collectors books. Last time we spoke he told me had gone shooting in South twelve years ago. Sometimes he talks about his two kids (one newborn) and his girlfriend. One time he even mentioned he was 40, because I had commented that he looked young (i had thought he was only 30 or so) We’ve talk about documentary films, he recommended Errol Morris and says he prefers an older documentary style. I will mention where I am travelling and then he’ll show me a photographer he likes online.

I love him in a way one can love from faraway. A silent observer and unspoken spectator. Love is such a varied term with so many definitions. And mine fits in space between reality and daydreams, floating in and out of my conscious mind. Someone that exist in another place, where words are not spoken, and everything is done with paralinguistic hints. He becomes an archetype of possibilities. And I wander between the books Content in my silence.

My first entry

Fri, 09 May 2008 20:06:32 -0400

My first blog entry. I am at work today, nine long hours in front of the internet. Ian convinced me to start a Tumblr last night, and i had been thinking about starting an alternative form of communication (other than flickr), so here I am. I have been watching The Holy Mountain today, a Jodorowsky film. It can be viewed as an absurd art film for the skeptical viewer and even Jowdorowsky said that the films are , “…limited as the viewer’s own sense of spirituality”, but I connected with it strongly even more after viewing it for the second time. In the extras Jodorowsky explains the Tarot, which is an essential part of the cohesivity of the movie. And at one point he explains, “A cellular organism is only alive when it is linked to an environment. So is the human spirit. If you don’t have links, if your don’t relate, You Die.” In some way this is very similar to blogging. It creates a connection between the subject and the viewer and creates a dialogue and offers a chance for the viewer to validate the blogger. Blogging can often become this superficial approach to expressing self and racking up popularity and is essentially a product of the new era technological connectivity and that addiction . But blogging also allows the subject to express themselves on their own terms, and that gives a certain validity to the act itself. I find it so hard to express certain things to people face to face because the often pushed superficial nature of hurried human relationships. Sometimes when I am walking around I think very hopeful things that seem to be lightened when spoken out loud. I hope blogging will allow me to connect on a level with people I dont often get to in crowded rooms and forced politeness. Human relationships obsess me and the need of stronger and more meaningful forms of communications often cloud my thoughts and judgement. I hope to be as truthful and as unpretencious as I can here and “relate” and “create links”, without talking like someone who is preaching or spewing meaningless emotional diahrea. a snapshot of my mind and my daily rituals.

Photo

Fri, 09 May 2008 19:27:28 -0400