the world has just begun again.

I always feel there is a world I need to write.

I am completely overcome with stimulus. This is nothing new, just something that becomes increasingly apparent, more real and present. It overwhelms me--just as in a pressurized room, one can feel the weight most intensely--but it does not intimidate me. Still I have been advised that I should want to fix this - that one should not want to be overwhelmed. Are the other options being underwhelmed or passive? Hm, not interested. Of course, I agree in the sense that being distracted by the multitudes of sensations is challenging and that one's focus should become sharpened, but I believe the few things one should strive for or maintain is awareness and insatiable curiosity---simply, to be turned on.

On that note, my mind is on a high more than ever before. My internet has insane amounts of tabs up at all times and my portfolios of clippings, articles, quotes and the like have never been so jammed. This all reflects my state of mind: cluttered, chaotic, filled. I've neglected to write out what has been before me--and to some degree, with time, they have begun to escape my attention--so I must soon begin refiguring and contextualizing all that was and still very much is. I've received more reviews, or rather reactions, to written work. One thing I am feeling good about: "This dialogue format that you have invented is becoming your 'signature'. You do it well, and you do it in a unique manner." Actually this makes me internally ecstatic. Placing down conversation has always been something I avoided and was daunted by but within the past months it finally hit me. And now I just listen to what I hear and invent within--the sensible versus the idealistic, the heroic versus the timid, the ridiculous versus the cunning, the blunt versus the wit, the practical versus the poetic and the other versus the self. It is all seemingly simple, but highly designed, sensationalized and (in a way) performed--which of course, complicates everything.

Friday I went and saw the Henry Darger exhibit. I was able to take a few pictures--but I wrote down a lot of words and names. I'll post it soon. Saturday I took photographs of the behind the scene for a music video. I also got five treasures (ie. Harper's Bazaar from 67' on the 100 most accomplished women and a 62' Town & Country on nyc) at Strand for 43 cents each. The nights all felt good. Last night, at the bar, I got to blow an eyelash. I wished for happiness. Impulse--and I figured, hey, happiness allows for a lot of breathing room - it's like 50 wishes in one. The passing hours were extremely happy and then my phone was stolen. I felt defeated and flew down the streets crying. I had to. It always feels cinematic. Cinematic and extremely cheesy having admitted the self-indulgence over tragedy. I also see that these lines can be read very matter-of-factly. However, as sincere as I am, I also don't take myself seriously--and by that I mean, I laugh at and over myself pretty much always. But that is only because I work in extremes. And since in mind I take it all seriously, I must come up for air and breathe by being the front of all my jokes. I think it is a real successful strategy. Of course, things will smooth out even more so with the experience in aging. And let's be real here, I've been at a real low body wise. Always am, and I hope on everything that I won't always be. It is the slowest process, but it is progressing and that is the least I can ask. Physically I feel terrible which makes it nearly impossible to get outside, dressed - let alone not self-deface, deprecate and/or demoralize myself esteem. It is the single most hindering quality and is a pleasure to and on no one. But, I give myself credit, I'm not starving myself like a year ago or irrational as before. I'm sure I'm still just as disillusioned. I break through though, hold strong, stand high and always feel removed from the stops and silly recognition I receive, all for being a face. Perhaps that is the easiest secret to tell: my work incessantly deals with this issue--my issue-- yourself that has an other that people know you as, but you do not recognized as your self.

Whenever this one guy comes over, he always recommends something to me that changes my world for the following weeks until a new habit takes shapes and I OCD over that. The first was ffffound.com. Material images that are found, discovered, posted, archived all throughout the day. Just recently he turned me on to pitchfork. Now I'm on music blogs every chance I get. Stereogum and my favorite, hypem.com. These are a few--that ultimately just take you to more blogs where you can stream music. In two days I had 300 new songs. It has been absurd. Also, podcasts alas. noise pop new music is my favorite. I'm going to The Kills concert on Thursday and if you live in NYC the best two performers are playing together on May 8 and I can't even fathom it. Buy the tickets up. El Perro Del Mar / Lykke Li. I thought I listened to bomb stuff before, now my ears are turned on to artists that I never would have known about. And of course once this begins, it never ends. Insatiable curiosity, indeed. The world is always just beginning.