Tuesday, May 21, 4:13 AM



You probably want to know what I'm up to at the moment, how things are here. It's getting colder and wetter in Auckland. It's my favourite time of year because all the leaves and vegetation on the ground leftover from summer are becoming soggy and decomposing and everything smells like earth. Whenever I'm not in New Zealand this is what I miss, at least as much as the beach. The light's hitting sideways now which can be annoying when you're trying to drive somewhere, but it's good when you're making breakfast and it lands on the stainless-steel kitchen counter and percolator.


Things are changing on grand scales, too. I threw my brother a big party for his 30th birthday a few weeks ago, at our parents' house. Around 2 or 3am I was really wasted and walked out onto the deck where everyone was smoking and I looked up into the sky and I felt even drunker, because the stars had shifted. I felt lost in space! In the morning I remembered that's what the sky does, it moves. I guess I'd never been on my parents' deck and looked up in the middle of the night before.


I went out again a few days ago, onto that deck, and I was planning on looking up but this time I looked down. The house is on a steep slope and the deck is perched over the garden. On dark nights the garden is just a big black well, it could be two meters deep or fifty. When I first walked out the moon was behind some clouds but then as I was standing there, looking into the void, the clouds shifted and suddenly the garden emerged from nothing, lit up by this strong cold moonlight. It was so bright all the trees and shrubs and picnic tables and chairs had stark shadows. It looked like a crazy stage set or a diorama. I want to think of this dramatic and beautiful reveal as a gift from the universe to me, but of course the moon and the garden was completely indifferent to my being there.

I'm tutoring this course at Auckland uni at the moment, it merges gender studies, media studies and politics and I'm way out of my depth, I'm not sure if academia makes sense to me without a film or artwork or something to anchor everything. Because it has this gender component the course has attracted a small contingent of not-quite-mens-activists, devil's advocate dudes who argue in their assignments that identity politics signals the end times, or whatever. But I can't dislike them as much as I want to, because at least they're engaged enough to have a position - the majority of the students don't seem to care about politics at all. They repeat the ideas of the lecturer semi-proficiently, but I have the feeling that if the lecturer was subbed out with Jordan Peterson they'd just accept his views without question. It's depressing. The course content is pretty dry but occasionally the lecturer includes beautiful images by accident.

Because of the changing seasons I'm thinking about the future but also the past a lot of course, and the other day Max described a song as "a party for sure, but in the past tense." Do you get what he means? Here's a playlist I made about parties in the past tense, I hope you like it

01/ Cum on Feel the Noize - Quiet Riot

02/ Beautiful - A.G. Cook

03/ An Honest Mistake - The Bravery

04/ The Shit Baby - Omar S

05/ goosebumps - Travis Scott

06/ Show U How - DJ Rashad

07/ Levels - Avicii

08/ All Around the World - Mac Miller

09/ The Rhythm of the Night - Corona

10/ Blame It On Your Love - Charli XCX

11/ You're Just as Confused as I Am - The Mint Chicks

12/ We Can't Stop - Miley Cyrus

13/ She is Beautiful - Andrew W.K.

14/ The Party - Justice


What are you listening to at the moment? Are you well? I'm missing you, I thought I saw you in the supermarket the other day. I'm glad you're gone, but it doesn't make me happy. I hope I get to see you soon.


Tuesday, May 28, 3:53 PM

In her
«Note»  at the beginning of her book «MetaTouchTown,» poet Morgan Ritter talks about how being a poet and artist is sometimes embarrassing. Some people think that being poetic is a cop-out for making sense or effectively communicating, and that it is woke to not be «cryptic.» But Ritter says that there /s something that outweighs the embarrassment of writing poetry: that within poetry, there are ultimate forms of communications or expressions. Because they veer from the standard, often times they]re dismissed as not useful. But Ritter considers them antidotes to the prevalent systems of profiling that impose standardization upon us.

Ritter /s beginning with this note sets the table invitingly for me, someone who loves art and poetry at its heart, but still manages to despise most. Why? The culture surrounding it, like Morgan said, makes me feel strange. I think there?s a lot to unpack here.

When I was younger, I used to think poetry was simply «too much.» Untethered from structure, it was language in its most gooey and gross. How could I appreciate a glob of glimmering goo when there are other, more subtle things in the world that don /t beg to be paid attention to? Maybe that /s what I hate about most art: that in certain contexts, it begs for an audience. I want an art that is a little bit boring?that blends in with the world. That asks its viewer to complete it rather than being already complete, shouting «Look at me!» A good artwork doesn }t need to loudly announce itself to its audience. It pulls rather than pushes.

Wed, May 29, 4:50 PM

Dear ----------


«It /s the queers who made me. Who sat with me in the automobile in the dead of night and measured the content of my character without even looking at my face. Who  _   in the same car  _   asked  me to apply a little strawberry lip balm to my lips before the anxious kiss that was fraught because it would be for an eternity, benday dots making up the hearts and flowers? Who sat on the toilet seat, panties around her ankles, talking and talking, girl talk burrowing through the partially closed bathroom door and, boy, was it something.»

Hilton Als, White Girls pg. 217

Julianne Moore as Havana Segrand in Maps to the Stars, 2014.

Wed, May 29, 4:55 PM

Dear ----------             

I am convinced that in the 1960 film Pollyanna, with Hayley Mills as the eponymous heroine, a certain crochet dress makes an appearance. This dress, over-dress, or maybe even housecoat, embodies something entirely visceral for me. I can never imagine a body in it, just the structure and form of the fabric, its cream loops and twists as they increase to form a wearable shape. The cream colour is not like cream (the edible kind), but more like the dirty shade of a ball of string carried around in a bag for a while. I?m unsure of the details, and in doubt as to whether this garment ever actually appears, but its melancholic presence seems connected somehow to the girl, Pollyanna.

Louise Bourgeois, Turning Inwards, at Hauser and Wirth Somerset, 2016.

Wed, May 29, 5:09 PM

Dear ----------

Two thirds of the way through the 1967 film of Thomas Hardy?s novel Far From the Madding Crowd, the heroine (again) declares her love for a soldier. Or maybe he?s her husband then a soldier. This happens on a beach as waves crash about them so loudly that it becomes impossible for the audience to hear what either of them are saying. It /s all gestural, melodrama on mute as the blue dress and blue waves and blue eyes whip around them. But close up the surroundings melt away, splashes flicking past her teeth, dribbling down her chin, as they fight to make their way past her deep and dark feeling of love that?s not entirely for him. He dies at the end.

Gurnard's Head, Cornwall, 2018.

Friday, May 31,
1:00 AM

12/21 St Neot Ave

The neighbours were so loud, playing queen and singing, moving around. I had gone to bed very early to escape the baggy time into sleep. I focussed so deeply on queen, and on their moving and shuffling to queen, I had to make them stop in order to get back to humanity. I bang the ceiling with the swiffy mop ? I think it?s called ? and then with some kind of meat mallet used for occasional light tapping in the vegetarian household. I put on my jeans, bra, jumper, socks (no shoes). No shoes is urgent. I was asleep, and you woke me and all I could manage was to put on my jeans and my bra and my jumper and my socks, but only just, and all in a very sleepy way. I went up and pounded on the door, felt good, goodnight queen. Back downstairs, undress, back to bed. And so it continues, pounding outfit back on, still sans shoes and this time without a bra ? urgent ? back upstairs for one last bang. They did not stop, I went downstairs, undressed, and put on noise cancelling headphones. Naked on my back for three hours wearing headphones thinking about Freddie Mercury, and about how if only all of my singing, moving and shuffling friends would come over to bang on the ceiling with the vegetarian meat mallet, I would feel much better.

Friday, May 31, 2:02 AM

I've been thinking a lot about how to explain myself to you. Since we haven't met, you only have my words to go on. It makes me wonder how any of us get to know each other really. I can try to paint a picture through my habits, the things I consume, the pictures I take. I think my life is unconventional but also very routine. Most of it is spent sitting in front of my computer like I am right now. I work in what I consider to be a beautiful room in New York's Chinatown. I share the space with one of my best friends, but he is in and out. Today he was in and now he is out. I spend a lot of time alone. My office is located down a long hallway behind a dentist and a doctor's office. The doctor passed away last summer and his space is untouched since then. The hallway is painted green many times over. It's dimly lit and there's a big sign that says "X-RAY". I guess our space used to be Dr. Moy's x-ray room. Now we've had it repainted. The walls are clean bright white and the floor is putty gray. The ceilings are so tall. We're on the corner so two of the walls are all windows. We get great light, except today is gray and it's going to storm later. It's making me feel pretty sad to be honest. So that's where I am.

For my work, the easiest description I can give is "graphic designer" although I don't like to associate myself with that crowd. I'm also a programmer sometimes but not a very advanced one so I don't fit in with that world either. Maybe it's better to describe my current projects. I've just today been given a quick gig to do a print ad for a publisher I do work for. It will run in an Argentine architecture magazine and is due in 5 days. I'm also making a website for a piece of writing by a friend. She's created a conspiracy theory around Charlize Theron's J'Adore Dior perfume campaign and needs an outlet for it. The third project is to start branding and materials for a new DJ/party series beginning this September. This is the first time I've gotten to do the promotion for an event at a bigger New York club so I'm excited to go in. I guess the last thing I'm working on is launching my t-shirt company: Junior Company. I was invited to participate in a pop-up shop at the end of June so I'm producing two tees to sell. There are other things happening but this seems like plenty to paint a picture.

The rain just started, I feel like I'm in a fishbowl.

It's funny, I have a generous amount of freedom working for myself, but still my weeks are usually all the same. I have a dog, Amelia, she's small. We live on the 3rd/top floor of a small apartment building with 2 other roommates. I walk her twice a day, once before I go to work and once when I come home. In a lot of ways she provides structure to my life, framing my day, the walk is always the same. Sometimes I'll call my family while I walk, but most times I'm just quiet. My office hours are monday to friday 12-8pm. I don't like waking up early and I don't like commute hour crowds on the subway. I still work a full day it's just shifted later than most people. I go to the same cafe every morning. I get a coffee and a blueberry muffin. I know it's a waste of money but it's my thing, I can't stop. The people who work there know me but we don't acknowledge it. A lot of times I'm the only person who knows where I am, but I'm always chatting. It can feel like I live inside other peoples phones.

On weekends I go to a club or a rave with friends. My hobby is dancing and listening. I love fast techno but also house music or any interesting sounds really. If I don't like the look of the parties happening I stay home and watch a movie. I like to walk around my neighborhood the next day and no one knows what I've been up to. Secret raver. I've heard it described as a group dream. When the party is really good it does feel that way. I don't take a lot of videos inside, but I can track the parties I've been to each month by reviewing my health app, the steps counter. I can see who made me dance the most and when. I usually stay out til the morning so on sundays I chill. Treat myself to breakfast and take Amelia to the dog park. I also bought rollerblades yesterday. I guess I have a new hobby now haha. I'll go for a ride with some people on sunday if the weather is nice.

I wonder what your picture of me is now knowing some more facts. I wish I could transfer my brain over so you could see for yourself, but this description of my life is the best I can do. I think it's interesting, barely knowing what you look like or sound like. Words are the closest we can get to unmediated thoughts maybe. We have a thoughts-only connection?

The rain seems to have let up slightly so I'm going to go home before it gets bad again. Plus it's 8:00pm - time to clock out!

Friday, May 31,
6:06 AM

straw worries