youknowyoulovemexoxojennifer:

Color of the Day: Ashes of Roses

This is the color of my grandmother’s nice dresses, and the color scheme of her powder room, including the decorative rose-shaped soap collection (which were never to be used, and so tempting).

youknowyoulovemexoxojennifer:

Color of the Day: Ashes of Roses

This is the color of my grandmother’s nice dresses, and the color scheme of her powder room, including the decorative rose-shaped soap collection (which were never to be used, and so tempting).

Alright, so usually IDGAF about GPOYs with ~famous people~, but I found this on my computer tonight and it’s silly & ridiculous & just ripe for the bloggin’.
This is a picture (credit: Amul Kumar) of me with my favorite singer, Dax Riggs, backstage at the Howlin’ Wolf in New Orleans, July 2004. I had just discovered his music a few months earlier via a dangerous mix CD from a crushboy in Pittsburgh, and made it my Personal Mission to find someone to road trip with me a thousand miles to see him play in a bar because These Things Are Important. My new, older boyfriend at the time agreed to this absurd excursion because if you can believe it I was once a Manic Pixie Dream Girl who knew How to Have a Good Time & I’m sure he relished the opportunity to ~teach~ me about How to Have Sex in Hotels and Other, Sneakier Places.
In any case, after the show, I interviewed Dax for my zine and, like, nearly died. This interview is still on the Internet (?!) and I’m like, nearly dying. (If you click through, please note that, again, I was 20 & coming off a Serious Artistic/Existential Crisis & could often be found at shows shoving a tape recorder in strangers’ faces and asking them to define “what punk means to you” and “what is the role of the Artist in society?” WHATEVER.)
Noteworthy Self-Indulgent Moments of this Photo Include:
- You can tell I am hella nervous because arms crossed & forgetting to cover my teeth when I smile.
- I might’ve been drunk.
- Scally cap & plaid because this was during my Irish Punx phase because Dropkick Murphys and validating my watered-down broke-ass ~heritage~.
- Short skirt, y’know, just in case.
- OMG why did I ever get all these tattoos.

Alright, so usually IDGAF about GPOYs with ~famous people~, but I found this on my computer tonight and it’s silly & ridiculous & just ripe for the bloggin’.

This is a picture (credit: Amul Kumar) of me with my favorite singer, Dax Riggs, backstage at the Howlin’ Wolf in New Orleans, July 2004. I had just discovered his music a few months earlier via a dangerous mix CD from a crushboy in Pittsburgh, and made it my Personal Mission to find someone to road trip with me a thousand miles to see him play in a bar because These Things Are Important. My new, older boyfriend at the time agreed to this absurd excursion because if you can believe it I was once a Manic Pixie Dream Girl who knew How to Have a Good Time & I’m sure he relished the opportunity to ~teach~ me about How to Have Sex in Hotels and Other, Sneakier Places.

In any case, after the show, I interviewed Dax for my zine and, like, nearly died. This interview is still on the Internet (?!) and I’m like, nearly dying. (If you click through, please note that, again, I was 20 & coming off a Serious Artistic/Existential Crisis & could often be found at shows shoving a tape recorder in strangers’ faces and asking them to define “what punk means to you” and “what is the role of the Artist in society?” WHATEVER.)

Noteworthy Self-Indulgent Moments of this Photo Include:

- You can tell I am hella nervous because arms crossed & forgetting to cover my teeth when I smile.

- I might’ve been drunk.

- Scally cap & plaid because this was during my Irish Punx phase because Dropkick Murphys and validating my watered-down broke-ass ~heritage~.

- Short skirt, y’know, just in case.

- OMG why did I ever get all these tattoos.

"The adolescents of my generation, greedy for life, forgot in body and soul about their hopes for the future until reality taught them that tomorrow was not what they had dreamed, and they discovered nostalgia."

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Memories of my Melancholy Whores (2005)

(Source: tricks-andtreats, via follow-restlesschance-instead-d)

"Living [at Spillage House] was such an amazing experience for me. It was the most nurturing, caring, friendly environment, where everyone could do their own thing and just let their creativity run wild. I miss that place so much. … Hold on a minute. Oh. I had a call-waiting and it said ‘Mom,’ and I was like, ‘but I’m already talking to Mom,’ but that was my Real Mom. I gotta go."

late-night phone call from a friend & former punkhouse roommate.


Ah… the Persistence of Memory. (…It’s still there.)

When I moved out of Spillage after putting in three years’ time, I was burnt-out and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, suffocating under a pile of dirty dishes and unpaid bills and empty bottles of booze, and there were times when I’d fantasize about tearing that goddamn house apart, ripping the siding off with my bare hands and, like, I dunno, taking a sledgehammer to the bathroom.

But we mustn’t forget the good times.

waza-loo:


this new batch of drawings is amazin

waza-loo:

this new batch of drawings is amazin

(via rustbeltwhiskey-deactivated2012)

Toward New Orleans on the Ponchartrain Causeway, July 2004 | selenographie & Amul Kumar
"I carried that fabulous and carnal image of New Orleans with me like a poetic wound for the next two years." —Andrei Codrescu, from "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" as printed in New Orleans, Mon Amour
"I was in a sort of ecstasy, […] Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty … I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations … Everything spoke so vividly to my soul. Ah, if I could only forget. I had palpitations of the heart, what in Berlin they call ‘nerves.’ Life was drained from me. I walked with the fear of falling.” —Stendhal (syndrome)

Toward New Orleans on the Ponchartrain Causeway, July 2004 | selenographie & Amul Kumar

"I carried that fabulous and carnal image of New Orleans with me like a poetic wound for the next two years." —Andrei Codrescu, from "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" as printed in New Orleans, Mon Amour

"I was in a sort of ecstasy, […] Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty … I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations … Everything spoke so vividly to my soul. Ah, if I could only forget. I had palpitations of the heart, what in Berlin they call ‘nerves.’ Life was drained from me. I walked with the fear of falling.” —Stendhal (syndrome)

Sometimes when I am feeling plagued by self-doubt, I suddenly remember about how I was voted Most Artistic when I was a senior in high school. This was 10 (!) years ago, and so a somewhat meaningless & very infrequent memory. When I was a senior in high school, I was extremely depressed for reasons which have since eluded me (perhaps thankfully). I had become distant from all of my friends & was no longer speaking to my best writer-friend, & thankfully, again, I have no idea what we were fighting about… but I believe it had something to do with insisting that the other was a big ol’ self-righteous poseur when in reality we were just jealous and insecure. I don’t know. I skipped my “real” classes and luckily most of my teachers were supportive of this as long as I wrote the papers & passed the exams. Then I could go and work in the darkroom all day, or go to the Vis Comm room to work on screenprinted t-shirts & airbrushing band logos onto carpet remnants, or visit my favorite English teacher who forced me to write a paper on Allen Ginsberg instead of Emily Dickinson, my first choice, and subsequently fueled my desire to go Kerouacking across the Southeast a few years later.

Read More

Bohemian Love Pad/Bus of The Damned, Pulaski Street, Athens GA, 08.29.11 | selenographie

Spent a strange coupla weeks in this bus back in ‘07. If anyone still lives here, sorry for creepin’ around the other day.

The Timelords (The KLF): “Doctorin’ the Tardis”

This was the first music I ever owned. My older cousin (the cool cousin, RJ, who always dressed in black) gave it to me on a 45, and I played that record repeatedly until the grooves wore out.

I think Doctor Who might’ve been my very first obsession. The Tom Baker series were showing at that time, and he was my first favorite. Grandma even knitted me a “Doctor Who scarf,” which didn’t look like his at all; it was red & white, but she made it really long and just called it a Doctor Who scarf, and that was good enough for my five-year-old self.

My dad had introduced me to Doctor Who. He’s a sci-fi aficionado, always reading Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, et al. We’d watch Doctor Who together (and later, Star Trek), and he would always patiently explain to me all the ins & outs of time travel and other outerspace anomalies — like what would happen if you met yourself in the past or future, what if you fell into a black hole, why can’t the Doctor change important events in the timeline but can still sometimes help others out and affect time in other ways. I thought my dad must be the smartest man in the world. Later, as I got older and began asking the Big Questions, his philosophies shaped my own personal combination of quantum physics and spirituality.

& the thing is, he never specifically said anything like, “this is what I believe.” He just answered my questions and he always seemed so comfortable with himself, so free of doubt and disillusion, and I admired that apparent fearlessness and uncertainty. I remember, he told me about how thunderstorms happen (of course, after joking that it was just the angels going bowling in heaven), and I said I was afraid of getting struck by lightning, and he would say he’s not scared of dying because, “if it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.” He used to say that he would die at age 53, like his father before him (whom I never met), who died of a heart attack out of nowhere, but my dad’s 53rd birthday passed without incident. He explained about how the Universe was infinite, and that helped me understand later how God-as-Being-Itself could be infinite (as opposed to the God-as-Crotchety-Old-Man-in-the-Sky I visualized in Catholic school, and I was sure he must get bored being all eternal’n’shit).

I didn’t mean to wax all nostalgic about such an amusingly campy music video, but I have to admit that the song still gives me the shivers — it’s got the phat beats & the rock’n’roll chants that make pop music work, of course, but mainly it reminds me of the excitement of that first obsession, that utter focus on something else outside of myself. Despite my immaturity, I still dreamed of being whisked away by the adventurous Doctor — and, of course, David Tennant’s Doctor only increased the desire 20 years later. Oh well, nothin’ wrong with a bit of impossible romance.