I don’t like to write even one word when I’ve had one sip of alcohol, so I’ll hold off on my musings about guilt, religious and other, until tomorrow as I’ve had three Stella Artois(es?), and instead post this quickly-dating picture of Cory Kennedy looking like an absolute fuckwreck at Fashion Week in NYC.
Guess which one, if you don't already know?
I always knew that inside mess would make its way out, CK.
This is the END OF ANNA KARENINA, присоска! (That says “sucker” in Russian.)
“I shall still get angry with my coachman Ivan, I shall still argue and express my thoughts inopportunely; there will still be a wall between the holy of holies of my soul and other people, even my wife, and I shall still blame her for my own fears and shall regret it; I shall still be unable to understand with my reason why I am praying, and I shall continue to pray –– but my life, my whole life, independently of anything that may happen to me, every moment of it, is no longer meaningless as it was before, but has an incontestable meaning of goodness, with which I have the power to invest it.”
Dear Society: Please bring back the boudoir slipper. Merci!
If you are thinking of gifting, please contact Siobhan, who will direct you to the correct Agent Provocateur store.
As many of you will remember, a few weeks ago my roommate LB (otherwise known as RG) received a very sad and creepy note from a fellow who has apparently been harboring feelings for her for about eight years. And today –– lucky for us, but not so much for him –– he gave the correspondence, as of yet unrequited, a second shot! Important to note before reading that she doesn’t now nor has ever spoken Spanish, and also that yes, this communication is taking place via the messenging system on Last.fm.
“I am so sorry if I didn’t write you long ago. If you expected an email from me for years after we exchanged addresses, I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t even notice how many years had gone by. I thought I would write you when something worked out in my life and things were good for me, and that didn’t happen so I just kept working.
I think you told me you made jewelry then, so I’m glad that’s going well for you. =)
Anyway, I saw that picture of you with the bulldog drawing when I looked for you and… I remember the way you looked and the way you saw me. And I don’t… I mean it was so many years ago and we talked so little that, well, you probably think its silly that I remember you and maybe it is. But if its not, I hope you’ll write me or find me some day, even if I change my name. Maybe if I lose myself you could remind me of the person I used to be. If you knew then. You’re kind of my last memory. 😉
That’s what I’d like to say anyway. But its been so long.
I remember you were pretty and you were good with languages. And I liked your eyes. That’s why I liked you. I thought maybe we could understand each other. Spanish isn’t my favorite language, but I could see it as beautiful if you did, at the time. 😉 But you were seeing someone and so I thought I’d write you later or some day.
Now, so much has passed and I’m starting to figure out that for normal people, 8 years or whatever is a really long time and nobody remembers anything, too busy taking what they can get while the getting is good. I don’t think anyone thinks that there’s something that’s right, I don’t even know if I do anymore.
Anyway, we didn’t really talk that much so I don’t know what kind of person you are or whether we’d get along or anything, it was just that one conversation really in whatever that castle dorm place was called. Manor… I guess and that other conversation earlier but…
So yeah. If you remember me, write me. Don’t wait years like I did, thinking there’s a right time. You should write me now, JUST in case, and we should talk, so maybe we might get to know each other and keep in touch before things are too different for us.”
I’m on an e-mailing list for a Catholic Church in the East Village (don’t ask) and their newsletter last week begins: LENT IS ON! Don’t I know it, Jesus! What are you giving up? I’m giving up socializing.
Not just a CLASS on squatting, but a SYMPOSIUM on it! My brother once told me about these people he’d heard of who were squatting in a mansion in Paris. I’d rather squat than rent. My other house is a tenement.
XXXXX FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24 XXXXX
Squatting Europe Collective
For the first time ever, a group of activist researchers from the European squatting movement are gathering in New York City. They will make public appearances to speak about the decades-old movement of squatting and building occupations in their respective countries. The tradition of political squatting is moving from the shadows into the light. With the world-wide rise of the Occupy movement, the deep reservoir of experience within the movements of political squatting have become suddenly significant.
Generations of activists have participated in occupations of vacant buildings in Europe, beginning in the 1970s. The best known early success was the famous free city of Christiania in Copenhagen. But every major city in Europe has experienced some version of politicized squatting, most recently in the form of social centers.
Various times, locations, and events. Check website for complete listings.
Continues through MONDAY
sites.google.com/site/housemagicbfc/sqek-nyc-feb-12-schedule
Aside from “writing about people who live alone,” “kids wax existential about love” seems to be another big one.
I think the best is the last one. How does this kid know that sometimes wives look like trucks!?
Anything?
I dare someone to call, strike up a convo and report back to itinerantdaughterandson@gmail.com. (In case you can’t see it, it reads: If anyone wants to talk about anything, call me, 347-469-3173.)
Reason #779:
” ‘Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes,’ though Levin about his wife, as he talked to her that night.
“Levin thought of the Gospel text not because he considered himself wise and prudent. He did not, but he could not help knowing that he was more intelligent than his wife and Agafya, and he could not help knowing that when he thought about death he thought with all his heart and soul. He knew, too, that many men of great intellect, whose thoughts on death he had read, had pondered deeply about it and did not know a hundredth part of what his wife and Agafya knew. Different as those two women were, Agafya and Katya, as his brother Nikolai called Kitty and as Levin particularly liked to call her now, were absolutely alike in this. Both knew without any doubt whatever what was life and what was death, and though they could not possibly have answered or even have understood the questions that presented themselves to Levin, neither of them had any doubts about the significance of these phenomena and both looked upon them in the same way, sharing this view with millions of other people. The proof that they knew firmly what death was lay in the fact that they never doubted for a moment how to deal with the dying and had no fear of death. Levin, however, and others like him, though they could say a great deal about death, quite obviously did not know, because they were afraid of death and had not the faintest idea what to do when people were dying. Had Levin now been alone with his brother Nikolai, he would have looked at him with terror and would have sat waiting there in still greater terror, and that would have been all he could do.”
~Guess
Ew, as IF!
But still:
Thinking…
Does the printed “New York’s Boldest” on the side of NYPD Correctional Facilities vans refer to the policemen or the convicts?
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