The Neon Zee

Since junior year of high school, my idiotic/romantic ideal of love:

PLAYBOY: So if the women in your songs have become more real, if there are fewer goddesses -

DYLAN: The goddess isn't real. A pretty woman as a goddess is just up there on a pedestal. The flower is what we are really concerned about here. The opening and the closing, the growth, the bafflement. You don't lust after flowers.

PLAYBOY: Your regard for women, then, has changed?

DYLAN: People are people to me. I don't single out women as anything to get hung up about.

PLAYBOY: But in the past?

DYLAN: In the past, I was guilty of that shameless crime.

PLAYBOY: You're claiming to be completely rehabilitated?

DYLAN: That is all we did in those days. Writing in the back seats of cars and writing songs on street corners or on porch swings. Seeking out the explosive areas of life.

PLAYBOY: When you think about rock and the rhythm of the heartbeat is it tied into love in some way?

DYLAN: The heartbeat. Have you ever lain with somebody when your hearts were beating in the same rhythm? That's true love. A man and a woman who lie down with their hearts beating together are truly lucky. Then you've truly been in love, m' boy. Yeah, that's true love. You might see that person once a month, once a year, maybe once a lifetime, but you have the guarantee your lives are going to be in rhythm. That's all you need.

 MY NEW IDEAL IS...

 

marrying a milanese millionaire (billionaire) who will buy a publishing company and publish the shit out of me in milan. and then buy me shoes.

 

or something. 

i want to live in a city with a shoe skyline encrusted with gold bejeweled stalagmite geometrics. also, nearby ocean is necessary. but thats a different topic. 

sunsets and tweed. i wish i could be wrapped in a sunset, wearing ironical grampa pants...hoisted above eyelevel on ugly as sin suede platforms everyday, don't you?

i would rather be this mannequin than a human. it sparkles. it wears a red dress. it has no head (as far as we can tell.)

a little somethin' for the hippies who like expensive things. which is all the hippies i know.

omg! my sweater looks like albino body hair!

a good hat should cover your face a bit to add to performance mystique...a great hat should cover your face a whole lot so you don't have to see anyone and no one has to see you. (thats what my mommaaa always saaaaaay)

perfect sheer blouse, detailing, leather accent and slimming man pants. remember, fashion is an animal, not an art  form. 

Ratatat & Prada co-LA-BRO

there are some things college cannot teach you. KEEP IT CLASSY, CC! I love you!

"Sir George Sitwell (1860-1943), head of that endemically eccentric family, had seven rooms he used as studies at his family mansion in Derbyshire where he occupied himself in writing such masterpieces as 'The History of the Fork' - none of them ever finished. His chief interest however was landscape gardening. He employed 4,000 men at one time to dig him an artificial lake in the grounds, with wooden towers sticking out of the water from where he could survey his various projects. To improve the view from his study window, he had Chinese willow patterns painted on to his herd of white cows. And a sign on his front door read: 'I must ask anyone entering the house never to contradict me in any way, as it interferes with the functioning of my gastric juices and prevents me sleeping at night.'"  

DEAR SAME BITCHES EVERYTIME WHO HAVE A TWO YEAR LONG TRADITION OF HOLDING LOUD LOUD LOUD GIGGLY CONVERSATIONS IN THE LIBARY 4TH WEEK OF THE BLOCK BEFORE FINALS,

 

oh my god i hate you so bad. RIGHT NOW I JUST WANT TO CRY

BUT IN THE NEXT LIFE, I SHALL SMITE THEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

p.s. heres some nice stuff to look at

ahhhhhhhh consumerism and design....how you fill the void within my ornery heart, let me count the ways

 

dear life that is mine,

if you stop being so weird, so will I. I think.  

 

dear crazy ali,

why are you called that? 

 

dear ali,

I went crazy during my college years. sorry.

love,

crazy ali

 

dear self, 

shut the fuck up

 

dear shut the fuck up,

i can't wait to get out of here so i don't have to walk around thinking. and dont have to walk around running into living reminders of what does not matter and never did. 

 

dear wise one/internal voice/fucking bitch,

thanks for all the good and genuine and timely life advice. I appreciate your commitment to vague vapid mantras because it gives me something to laugh about and then write about and then rhyme about and then read out loud in self effacing hyperbolic performance.

thanks. 

 

dear sense of humor, 

you survived adolescence, college and once you even survived falling in love,

i cant wait to see what you do with my yuppie years and intellectual asshatery 20somethings

ready.....

            GO

 

 

RIDDLE ME

Every night, the dream.

            Every dawn, the waking

 

"The dead themselves the men anyhow would like to hear an odd joke or the women to know what's in fashion. You must laugh sometimes so better do it that way."

"Read your own obituary notice they say you live longer.

Gives you a second wind.

New lease on life."

Page Limit

by Becca Klaver

 

 

 

I was wise with the diary,

 

molded a daily arc,

forced the surprises to conform

till they were splayed end-to-end

like plucked chickens.

I’ll be honest, I cooked them.

 

I don’t like playing games

with real consequences,

but you’ve asked me implicitly

to think on my feet, to use you

as scribble-pad, to offer it or lose it

but not slide it between pulpy layers.

 

I am not so wise now

left with only my own brain,

its loaded dome like a minefield

in the secret ballroom of a luxury hotel.

There are dozens of passwords

and I am the ghost guard

in full regalia, lookout for

sense’s diluted waltz with nonsense.

 

If I enjoyed this tradition,

if I wished to efface myself,

airbrush it pink and pale,

I’d say, On you it is written.

 

But I don’t, and you don’t

take me for a fool, do you?

You ask for the cipher striptease,

and I resist, piling on layers,

and I yield, etching on air.

LITERARY PICK UP LINES

 

Complete Works by D.H. Lawrence

When you’re encouraging the flame:

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.”

 

Twenty Love Poems and A Song of Despair

 by Pablo Neruda

You could almost pick a line at random with Neruda, really, but here’s a sure thing:

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

 

“Don Juan” by Lord Byron

For the shy ones, sitting in the room downstairs:

“A little she strove, and much repented,
And whispering, ‘I will ne’er consent’ — consented.”

 

 The Lost Poems by Dorothy Parker

To use in any bar, in any city, but probably best with Wall Street guys:

“I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.”

 

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk

To the woman in the blue dress:

“Let me first state forthright that contrary to what we’ve often read in books and heard from preachers, when you are a woman, you don’t feel like the Devil. ”

 

The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie

This man was once married to Padma Lakshmi. He must have done something right:

“For a fellow who’s not to much to look at, you have the instincts of a champion.”

Sula by Toni Morrison

Saying it like it is:

“What do you mean take him away? I didn’t kill him, I just fucked him.”

 

The Ask by Sam Lipsyte

When it’s time to get fruity:

“Stuff me in a tutu and let’s screen experimental videos all day.”

“First Love” by Isaac Babel

Who enjoys saucy French words? Hopefully, your admirer does:

“She would lift her peignoir above her knees and say to her husband: ‘Give baby a kiss…’”

Pussy, King of the Pirates by Kathy Acker

For the post-punk, French critical theory set:

“If you ask me what I want, I’ll tell you. I want everything.”

 

TEN FASHION WEEK RULES ACCORDING TO the queen idiotstick and "fashion maniac," Anna Dello Russo (aka J'A-D-R)

FASHION STORM COMING SOON ...
"During the fashion week I have my rules to follow and I'm going to tell my top ten list"

1. black outfits make a omologate effects.

2. be carefull with black:
don't put together different tone of black (clothes, stocking, shoes, ...)
materials reflect the black in different way.

3. sunshine is a big spot on you:
it shows all the mistakes.
(Cheap fabrics, ruined accessories, dirty shoes).

4. you must feel the weather every morning.
Clothes live in the best context like actresses loving the amazing theater.

5. don't match clothes and its own function:
Like rain and trenchcoat,
like snow and moonboot,
forget it the umbrella at home!

6. wear just night-clothes in daytime.
It is unexpected!

7. don't carry big bags.
On the front row they hinder the passage.

8. between shoes and bag?
absolutely, amazing shoes matching 
a perfect pedicure.
They make a right attitude!

9. don't wearing so much make up.
In the morning it does not look fresh.

10. shape up!
you must choose outfits fierce and fully shaped.

There is a fucking old guy (early 50s? mid 40s ish?) sitting next to me in the library and I HATE HIM. because I hate all strange men who are in the 40s-50s age range. BUT ALSO. he is standing up to leave...and gathering his stuff with as much FLIPPING AND SLAPPING AND SLAMMING AND VIOLENT BACKPACK ZIPPING AND FORCEFUL CHAIR PUSHING AND FERTIVE GLANCES IN MY DIRECTION

 

and it makes me want to puke.

 

because my dad  similarly puts away his stuff when he's really fucking angry about work. (i've come to associate the noise with bad news bears and general unpleasantness...deep resentment...etc.)

so right now the associative power of this guy reminding me of my dad in a bad way....AND checking me out...i want to puke.

on a similarly man-hating note, while pretending to write my paper (a psycho analytical take on the letters both recieved, written and alluded to in Joyce's Ullyses)  I found this beautiful and funny excerpt from Molly Bloom's monologue:

"Id rather die 20 times over than marry another of their sex of course hed never find another woman like me to put up with him the way I do know me come sleep with me yes and he knows that too at the bottom of his heart take that Mrs Maybrick that poisoned her husband for what I wonder in love with some other man yet it was found out on her wasnt she the downright villain to go and do a thing like that of course some men can be dreadfully aggravating drive you mad and always the worst word in the world what do they ask us to marry them for if were so bad as all that comes to yes because they cant get on without us white Arsenic she put in his tea off flypaper wasnt it I wonder why they call it that if I asked him hed say its from the Greek leave us as wise as we were before she must have been madly in love with the other fellow to run the chance of being hanged O she didnt care if that was her nature what could she do besides theyre not brutes enough to go and hang a woman surely are they.."

(reflecting upon her affair with a brutishly sexual man...her marriage...and another woman who murdered her husband)

HOW CAN YOU DANCE IN THOSE HEELS?

HOW COULD I NOT?

p.s.

these are absolutely fucking incredible. and probably pretty easy to make?? BY the way, in case you didn't catch the memo: LISTEN TO THE SONG POSTED ABOVE.

IT IS, to quote Gabrielle Goodbar, the Leviathan's new editrix in chiefdom, "OUT OF CONTROL!"

credit must go out to my beloved valentine, max-oid robi-tard, for unearthing this gem. 

Things I've learned in the past 24 hours

(excerpts taken from notes)

"You can't be a good lover if you're fully socialized"

"The knees sometimes show how close death is"

"excess has a function sometimes"

"because we are pattern loving animals we want pattern all the time. pattern. PATTERN. PATTTTTERN!"

"adjectives are dangerous. they're soft, and many of them, spoiled." 

"a sentence is like a train. chuga chug chug chuga"

"you must become released from formal apriori determinations of where the poem is going to go...otherwise your work will suffer." 

I also learned/attempted THE TOP KNOT. If you are lacking in the top knot knowledge department, CLICK HERE. it is cool. it is controversial. it is TOPKNOT.

day time

these shoes got more comfortable THANK GOD! 

night time

izaac mizrahi for target. found it at a consignment store for 5$

 

day time

night time

w/o layering for CO and w/ stooopidity/sacrifice for fashion/for the love of our deity, susie bubble

fashion shoot starring my favorite "haute hippie"....reiki master and absolute sweet heart:

Ms. Olivia!!!

p.s. DEAR WORLD

how come living in china fucked up my stomach to the point that i literally cant eat anything without it sounding like a coffee maker or a broken Dell for an hour and a half?!!!!!!! 

I just got so absorbed in my reading for class (Heidegger's "Being and Time" and John Riker's "Why its Good to be Good")

that I forgot I was reading...and then started getting mad at myself for fucking around on the internet instead of doing my homework. But I'd never actually stopped reading until that thought passed through my head.

 

Weird.

 

"In tranquilizing busyness, life ceases to flow forward; it “eddys.” Much is happening, for sure, but inauthentic life is not our own. Its achievements are what the They want us to do. We are even intimate and sexual the way we are supposed to be intimate and sexual. In the swirl of “shoulds,” “musts” and the reduction of the world to a set of expectations, we become alienated from ourselves. This falling prey to the They is not something that might happen to us; it is a necessary structure of what it means to be human."

"As attractive as being authentic sounds, the path to authenticity is dark and difficult, for it involves falling into an anxiety—an Angst—in which the foundations of familiarity and meaning dissolve. In Angst we realize that our most inescapable ownmost possibility is our own nothingness. Dying is the one possibility that we will necessarily actualize, and we will actualize it as a singular being, for no one can die for us. To be Da-sein is to be a being‑unto‑death. It is not biological death that we fear, but existential death. Biological death is the breakdown of an organism, but existential death is the knowing that our very existence will become non‑existence. “As the end of Da-sein death is the ownmost non-relational, certain, and, as such, indefinite and not to be bypassed possibility of Da-sein.” [i] This is the deepest layer of our throwness—we are thrown into an existence whose most certain possibility is our death. We do not choose to be mortal nor do we know why we are mortal. We are thrown into our mortality. However, in attending to it we discover our own particularity, for no one else can die our death. In the midst of nothingness we experience the being of our particular being and come to realize that “I am.”"

 

"Rather than ending our stay in time, death is that which allows time to be a field in which we can realize our ownmost potentialities."

GOD ALEX OLSON IS SO FUCKING SEXXY.