Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
*NUMBER OF NICE PEOPLE: 8
*NUMBER OF ASSHOLES: 7
*NUMBER OF BANKRUPTCY ACCOUNTS: 7 (NO CORRELATION TO ASSHOLES)
* NUMBER OF SEVERELY PAST DUE ACCOUNTS: 9
*NUMBER OF VOLUNTARY REPOSSESSIONS: 1
*NUMBER OF "FUCK OFF": 1 (NOT THE VOLUNTARY REPOSSESSION)
YEAH THAT'S MY WORK DAY.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
On that first trip to Cuba, I began what would become a family tradition: the pouring over and selecting of photographs for my collection. Tia Rosita was the keeper of all family heirlooms and all photographs were carefully preserved in plastic shopping bags. Piles of fairy-tale snapshots sat neatly, one on top of another, with little regard to rhyme or reason. In any one bag you could find images of my first day at school, sent from Miami, with pictures of my mother’s quinceañera party in front of the ancient house in Vazques. Sitting Indian-style on my grandmother's old stiff bed in my family’s museum, I gravitated towards those beautiful old photographs and interviewed my aunt.
“Who is this young guy standing next to Rafael?” I would ask.
“That is your father, niña… when he used to have hair,” she would reply with a smile.
The bags of inconsistency would morph into neatly organized timelines. Right next to me would sit my most prized possession: the collectables Tia Rosita was allowing to disappear from her life forever. When she had had enough, and it was time to put the bags away, she'd examine the photographs one last time. Slowly sifting through the Miami-bound collection, she would stop for a few short seconds on every single image, burning them into her memory. A small tear would greet the side of her face and she would say:
“Ay niña, I can’t believe you love such old things. Enjoy them, but you better send me new ones!”
Each and every time I returned home from visiting family in Cuba, my mother would reprimand me for arriving with these gifts. It is an unspoken rule that after a trip to Cuba you return to Miami with almost none of your belongings. It was especially embarrassing for my mother to contend with the fact that I even so much as had the gall to ask for something, when my sole mission was to give. But, to my mother’s continued horror, I could never ignore my fascination and love for black & white film and continued to amass quite the series over 7 trips. I recently rediscovered my old flame, after relying on the instant gratification of digital for so long. And this week, I’m purchasing a Nikon FM10 35mm camera to finally send Tia Rosita some new ones.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
On a recent bike ride through Liberty State Park, I came upon an amazing view of the Statue of Liberty and it got me pondering over the idea of inspiration as a multifarious experience. Although we all understand it to be one noun, inspiration looks, feels and results in an infinite number of possibilities. When you come upon your muse it is one of the most original and intimate events that you can be aware of. In the instance where one shares an inspirational moment, the conclusions remain limitless. And in the very rare occasions where many share a muse and a similar dream, the aha! moment can never belong to anyone but yourself.
The Statue of Liberty, as the most iconic symbol for freedom, has inspired over 22 million immigrants as they passed through Ellis Island. There are very few creative influences today that can claim to have inspired 22 million distinct sensations.
When lightning strikes me, my soul propels upward like the launch of a space shuttle. It takes off from the pit of my stomach and rockets through the center of my electrified heart, warming my inner atmosphere. It all concludes in a brilliant fireworks display that kisses my skin with fading light, as the flash of light simmers down.
What inspires you and what does that moment feel like?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
I’ve always had a pretty bad perception of time. My friends can all attest to this handicap, having been victims of the many consequences of my tardiness. The older I get, the more philosophical I’ve become regarding time. On the surface, it seems that I just can’t get anywhere on time because I simply take too much of it to get any one task accomplished. But, what is time anyway? These days it seems to escape me even quicker than before.
Days have become mere sighs passing through the portal of a greater unknown macrocosm. On days where I’m running late and have to rummage through my archive for a good excuse – to get me off the hook for being late to what-have-you event, I feel wholeheartedly that I am a slave to a manmade invention.
Immanuel Kant believed that time didn’t really exist but was an exigency of our knowledge. In order for us to understand anything, our sensations had to exist conditionally within space and time. The idea that time is subjective makes the most sense to me. I have my own mind and my own perception, so why shouldn’t time be different for all of us. Your 9am is not mine.
Clearly, I’m not a realist when it comes to time. I don’t believe we move through it in a uniform fashion, nor that time travel is possible. But, I do understand one universal idiom: Time is Money. Over the next few weeks I will be completing a project, inspired by Time, which will take up two adjacent walls of my apartment. I hope to share my progress with you and that you will appreciate the time it will take for me to bring a little yellow into your lives.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
|1. ||a color like that of egg yolk, ripe lemons, etc.; the primary color |
between green and orange in the visible spectrum, an effect of light
with a wavelength between 570 and 590 nm.
|2.||the yolk of an egg.|
|3.||a yellow pigment or dye.|
|4.||Informal. yellow light.|
|5.||Slang. yellow jacket (def. 2).|
|6.||of the color yellow.|
|7. ||Often Offensive. |
|8.||having a sallow or yellowish complexion.|
|9. ||Informal. cowardly.|
|10. ||(of journalism, a newspaper, etc.) |
|12. ||to make or become yellow|
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
So we've continued documenting the life of Yellow Man and what it's like to be yellow....or just him.
...so Yellow Man recently went to the mall, (he hates the mall) but needed to buy a new blue dot for his shirt...and he almost got run over and stepped on by someone! Now he hates the mall even more.He decided "fuck it", and got in his car and went to hang out with his friends. He arrived and they all just hung out around the block. Shown below from left to right is: Vaseman with the Mask face, YM (short for Yellow Man himself), Kitty Kat, Reddy Round-Up (she's the nicest person) and Pepe Pinguo (he has the purple mask). Oh and the 2nd photo is Machete, (he's the crazy friend).Well, hanging out with his friends was relaxing, but then, best of all, his friend Greenie showed up. They've always had a thing. (She's really hot). And they decided to leave and get away from everyone and go out into the forest. (No you perverts, it's not like that!) They just climbed trees together and laid out on the grass holding hands, (yes they have hands).
Then the coolest thing happened...he unexpectedly ran into his friend, Buddha, out in the forest! Buddha got to meet Greenie and they all ended up meditating together. Buddha also asked YM about his encounter with Jesus last week. It was pretty cool.
Well, now he's off to go make "tres leche". We'll keep you posted with his trips to space, East Hialeah and the beach. Goodbye for now.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
6:00 A.M., and the sirens go off. I mechanically get up and out of bed with no need of conscious involvement. I pointlessly keep my eyes close and try to keep dreaming as I reach the bathroom and relieve 5 hours of immobility. 5 hours is a pretty good amount of rest, usually I get a scattered 3 hours of shattered incomplete dreaming. It’s always been the one dream since I was 12; the never-ending dream. 20 years later and all I want is to finish this damn dream.
I’m young; I’m 12. I’m running and I start to pick up speed. I run faster and faster until I become a flash of light. I elevate from the ground. I keep floating higher and higher. I’m approaching a ceiling, but I become thin like vapor and pass through seamlessly. As I get higher and higher in the sky I begin to expand and spread, always maintaining the intensity of my light speed. Passing through clouds I absorb their moisture. I float out of earth’s atmosphere and towards the sun. As I pass a star I absorb its gaseous components. I pick up as much cosmic material as I can. I am huge, bigger than the earth. I start to absorb planets and dark matter and black holes. But I can’t stop, I continue towards the sun, if possible, moving ever faster. Right before I reach the sun, in what seems to be a catastrophic collision-I wake up. Over and over again I worthlessly attempt return to the impending impact, only to start all over again.
It’s taken me 15 years to get to this point, night after night of dreaming. For the past 5 years I always wake up when I get to the point of collision. At first I had no interest in completing the dream. I tried everything I could to dream of something new. Even in my daydreams I returned to the same scene. Once I realized it wasn’t going away I made an effort to get to the end. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried. Plus, I’ve grown increasingly interested on what will happen if I crash into the sun.
It’s not even that magical anymore, after 20 years of the same image you get bored. The explanations start to become more interesting than the actual dream. You explore every possible hidden meaning behind it. One explanation that seems to stand out among the rest is that an extraterrestrial intelligence has implanted a puzzle in the form of this dream in my head as an evaluation of human cognitive capabilities. Once I figure out how it ends I am rewarded with it’s meaning. This explanation always leaves me a little depressed at the end; they should have found someone smarter. What if I cause the utter destruction of humanity for my lack of ingenuity? Then again, I suppose if some otherworldly creature were to assess the intelligence of the average American person I suppose I fit the description.
6:30 A.M. sitting on the toilet I open my eyes in my last attempt to finish this scene. I get dressed. Brew some coffee and contaminate my body with wakefulness before the subway ride to labor. I have moved passed such emotions as frustration. I try not to be irritable about it. The lack of sleep has been a recent syndrome. I suppose if I can’t indulge escaping reality in my dreams then what’s the point of dreaming. I feel as if I have been robbed of my imagination. I feel grey and lack pigment as I look at myself in the mirror.
7:10 A.M., every morning I step outside and I pause before I’m forced to face the world. I do this same routine in an effort to satisfy this dual existence. To be a functioning adult in this waking life, and still dwell deep into the world inside my head. I’ve never really told anyone about this dream and don’t intend to. This is my challenge, my burden to figure out.
7:26 A.M. I reach the subway stop. This is probably the worse moment for me. I read somewhere that eye contact is the most direct way to connect to people. Every person I see in front of me, I make an effort to engage. I look into their eyes and search for some kind of indication that they will have the answer I need to unlock the riddle that plagues me. I look with desperately hungry eyes; unsuccessfully I try to hold back. I am aware how scary it may seem to a stranger. I cannot contain my desire to resolve this. It hurts when some of the women clutch their bags and scuffle past me at a quickened pace.
7:30 A.M. The train arrives. We are tightly herded in, echoing animal cries of dissatisfaction at life imposing this most unnatural routine. Ay but this is labor. I do enjoy looking at the pack surrounding me. All disconnected from each other, avoiding eye contact while I desperately seek to connect. They can feel my gaze calling at them. It’s drilling a hole at their skin until the invisible line reaches the appropriate place and they link for 2 seconds and then quickly look away. As if I could see them completely bare-naked when our eyes meet. I can hardly see them at all, let alone naked. They can see me completely bare; maybe they think I broke through their barriers since I’m completely exposed.
7:37 A.M., A man walks in with two FootLocker bags and yellow pants on. I can’t stop staring at his legs. As the train vibrates and shakes, his legs become 6 and 8 with the rattle. I shiver. I start to see shapes and objects merging out of his legs’ movement. Bananas, crayons, and albino serpents begin to mockingly extend from his direction. We must be passing a rough tunnel because the train is shaking uncontrollably. I feel a pang of motion sickness approaching so I close my eyes in an attempt to settle myself.
I’m a huge mass of collected material zooming at light speed towards the sun. I feel what I mistake as its warmth increasing my temperature. I soon realize that I am absorbing it’s radioactive fire. I am only fire. I am a giant star speeding towards this universe’s life source. I am fully aware of my power and intensity. I will not stop this time. We collide and we explode and become one. The impact sends an echo of flames across the many galaxies surrounding ours. We create a rip in dark matter and all is sunken into it with a furious intensity. As I emerge out I’m a mere shadow of myself. I am awake and I am 12 again in bed, body drenched in salty sweat. As I wake I forget the nightmare of the past 20 years of that inescapable routine.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Recently, Karyna and I went to Venezuela to visit our family. We went every summer growing up and now visit periodically. However, the older I get the more I’ve grown to appreciate the yummy food that my grandma and the country have to offer.
Generally, Maracuchos love food filled with cholesterol or food that leaves a trace of grease on transparent paper. In Maracaibo you eat grease at whatever time of day, so it’s not rare to see someone at six o clock in the morning eating pastelitos, or empanadas accompanied with a very cold carbonated cola, ofcourse-since the weather is sooo dang hot.
My favorite of the greasiest traditional Venezuelan foods is the Patacon! These are truly Maracuchos. The patacon is made up of a green or ripe platano (plantain for those who don’t speak spanglish) filled with “heaven” inside. Think of a sandwich, but instead of bread you have a round and flattened ripe or green platano. You can choose between a tostone (green platano) or platano maduro (ripe and sweet plantain). Personally, I lOVE sweet plantains. The most popular patacones are filled with carne mechada (shredded beef) and ofcourse cheese! Cheese is probably the number one ingredient – the cheese is shredded and the softer kind sliced. Mmmmmmmmmm... I love Venezuelan cheese! I even brought a pound back. The other popular kind is jamon y salsa. Salsa to maracuchos is a ketchup and mayonnaise mix. I hope that one day you can enjoy this heavanly cholestrol filled delight.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
One cold and rainy morning, as I dragged my reluctant body through the herd of 9-to-5 Wall Street commuters, departing the A train for work, I came across this mantra at the turnstile: AMPLIFY LOVE, DISSIPATE HATE. I was having a particularly bad week, as most folks were towards the end of winter, and the tiny cynic in me decided to brush this life lesson off, even though it stared me right in the face. The next morning, however, I could not ignore it as we met again at the turnstile. And the morning after that. And then the morning after the previous. Suddenly, I began to look forward to saying hello to this randomly placed fortune. I began to allow others to cut ahead of me, as we all made our way up the stairs to the exit, by taking slower steps and calculating the turns being made. All this math buzzing through my brain, so early in the morning, had a purpose. My daily primary objective was now to always position myself exactly where I needed to be, to push through the turnstile adorned with my daily horoscope.
For a very long time, I thought the message was referring to my relationships with others. Don’t hate. Love thy neighbor. But it wasn’t until today that I realized the message was truly intended for my relationship with myself. Admittedly, my reaction to life's misfortunes have been to hang on to some devastatingly painful feelings. It has created a major blockage on the right-hand side of my brain. I finally get it though. The day that we begin to stop hating ourselves will be the day that love, in its greatest form, will come pouring out of us... amplified. Yes, it’s a very simple idea and it’s been said before. But somehow, it feels new. This poem is the first step towards unclogging. I dedicate it to Yellow.
You Are My 1999
When I am with you
I am from cramped backseats
And deserted baseball fields.
My skin is glowing warm red from the beer.
There is laughter
And the Cure.
I am an impatient giver
On a used apartment floor.
A glimmer of hope tangled in my hair.
You are the approaching summer,
Moving through rivers
Birthed by anxious pores.
The wind whips,
Sound flooding fury past diverging flesh.
There is need
You are a timid excavator
Plunging carelessly through Virgo.
A pedestal at your feet.
Today I wanted to share the adventures of Yellow Man, who I've been following around with a camera and documenting his life. So far, for this Thursday, here are pictures of Yellow Man meeting Jesus in Maracaibo, Venezuela, he's also at his grandmothers front yard (also in Venezuela - this is the house where he met Jesus) and he started a painting! (He thinks it's rather unsuccessful but that's okay because now he's using watercolor and inks and loving it!)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
tah tah, till then!