iPhone Inspiration: Two months in random thought

As I've mentioned before, I write a lot of stuff on my iPhone. If I have an idea I consider remotely interesting or worth saving, I'll write it in the notes app of my phone, and then later I'll go through them and pick the good ones to develop as blog posts. Other times, like yesterday, I look through them and go, What the fuuuuuuck? I don't remember writing this at all. And one of the cool things about the iPhone is that it timestamps everything you write, so I even have my cell phone telling me when I wrote the things I don't recall writing. Awesome. Here, I share with you some of the most, um, memorable little snippets of things that I apparently can't remember writing over the past couple months.

March 4, 8:13 p.m.
(A drummer on the 6 train said this. I have no idea what the fuck it means. It was the only thing he said before he commenced drumming.) 


If anyone here follows science, you will know that we are in the most critical parts of life.



February 26, 9:33 a.m.
(Sometimes I see images in my brain and I have no idea where they come from, what they mean or why they are there. If I were Dalí, I would paint them, but since I am not, I just write them in my iPhone so  I won't forget. And then I forget anyway.) 

Image of a girl, topless, seen from behind, with a big analog clock drawn on her back.

What time is it?

February 26, 9:24 a.m.
(I guess this was right before the previous one.)

New York is beautiful because there is art all around. In the past three days I've seen at least three incidents of people on the subway making art. The other day I saw a young man with dark, pretty hair sketching other people on the train with no semblance of order, just violently scratching at his note pad with black ink. Then another day I saw a black boy, probably high school age, pull out a notebook, turn it to a blank page, sigh, pause and look at me. His headphones were in and I could tell he was thinking about what he wanted to write. I got off the train before I saw him write anything, but the promise of a creation is almost as weighty as the thing itself. And today, I'm standing next to an older Asian man who is flipping through a notebook filled with sketches, mostly of human faces. He's sketching now. Black pen. Light strokes. And I'm writing this as he draws. New York is inspiring because it's filled with inspired people.


February 22, 9:25 p.m.
(I wrote this when I first saw the writerly guy I mentioned above.)

A blank pad and a pen is everything.


February 8, 8:23 a.m.

Would you rather have amazing sex with mediocre people for the rest of your life, or mediocre sex with genuinely amazing people?

January 24, 5:56 p.m.

I find that I am surprised by roundness in the city. In a place where the very structure is made up of blocks, straight lines and corners, a rounded turn is a lovely rarity. Most of them are underground, which seems appropriate. A train curves around a bend in the track. Whether I'm on the train or standing on the platform looking at it, it's never an expected thing. While on the train, it's a bit more shocking. If I'm sitting, I like watching standing people sway and catch themselves on metal poles. If I'm standing, I never can remember when the turns are, no matter how much I've ridden the path, and my hands shoot out to steady myself or snatch a wall or pole.

January 21, 8:34 a.m.

Today is my first birthday in New York, and I am spending it with Lady Gaga. I really can't think of anything more appropriate. Last year I was in DC for my birthday, watching the first black president get inaugurated and watching the beginning of the dissolution of my relationship with A. That was a process that would essentially last a full year, and I am now thrilled to put it behind me.

But now is a different time. I am alone, but I celebrate my aloneness. I read books and magazine articles and I feel inspired to write, and I do. I tell my parents how much I love them. I pray thanks for my second family, here in New York. I pray thanks for my health, though it has been up and down for the last couple of months. I am 24, and though at times I feel much older, I am thankful for every minute of it. I have had several dreams in my life, and I have lived all of them. I still have some left to live, of course, but so far I feel blessed to have experienced things few get to.

Come onnnnn train I have a 9 o'clock mtg y'all.


January 20, 7:37 p.m.

Girls on the subway talking about what they would do with $3 million: "Get the fuck out of New York."  

January 15, 11:42 a.m.

I sometimes think I can see atoms. This has been happening my whole life. I see little bright particles swimming around in my eyes, usually when I'm looking at a light source or something illuminated.

When I was little and this would happen, I used to imagine I was some sort of superhuman. Like I had a special talent no one else in the history of the world has ever had. It wasn't really a marketable skill, being able to see atoms, but at least it was interesting.  

January 8, 9:59 p.m.
(On my way home from sharing some extremely stout whiskeys with Hannah.)  

This E train is so empty. We are at 23rd street now. I'm far from home. My feet are warm, and the tingling is gone. I really like Hannah but I sometimes have the bizarre experience of feeling like she is two different people. I hear her voice differently when I read her writing than when she is talking to me across a dark bar. I wonder if she perceives me that way too? I hope not. I want people reading me to hear me just as I am. But I wonder if that's impossible.

The underside of the left half of my tongue aches. It was hurting before I drank tonight. Perhaps I've been talking too much?

More people are getting on the E train now. Ugh, y'all, I hate the E train. It's the most unreliable train in Manhattan, which makes it all the more appropriate that tonight, when I felt I really needed it, it pulled in to the station right as I did. I have never greeted an E train in a head-on simultaneous collision, but tonight I did. Typical.

I feel so much tension in my body, all the time. In my back, in my legs, in my arms, in my head. I feel all curled up, like I need to unfurl like a snail. This woman across from me looks like an older version of this beautiful woman I met the other night at an event. After a while, everyone in this city starts to look the same, though no one looks like anyone else, really.

Except for me. I see my face in every face I see and every train door. It's inescapable. I remember this one time I was on the train and these two young girls got on the stop after me and I was listening to some music but I could still tell they were talking about me. They were standing directly in front of me and looking me up and down and saying things to one another. I have no idea whether they were saying good or bad things, but I remember feeling uncomfortable about it. I felt like I was 12 again and my friends were talking bad about me and I didn't know just what to do to stop them.

That was many months ago, and I was a different person. I think now I might feel differently.

Mannie comes to live with me

So, this post has two points. One is to show that I'm keeping up with my creativity maxim. The other is to explain that I now have a mannequin living with me in my new apartment.

Last Thursday night, Una and I were enjoying post-work bloggy drinks when BFF and fellow Commune resident Zac came to join us. As we were walking out of the bar, we saw two mannequins strewn haphazardly across a trash pile and Zac and I gasped in disbelief at our ridiculous luck. Two questions loomed large. First of all, who throws away mannequins? Secondly, how are we going to get these home?

We decided to house them in my office for a night so we could properly transport them uptown the next day. Then Friday we lugged them up to 104th on the 6 train, and it was a surprisingly easy trek. For now, Mannie is in my bedroom - he will move to the living room eventually, but my roomie is in the process of moving and I don't want him to be in the way - and yesterday I decided to do a little iPhone shoot with him. (Aaaaaand that brings me back around to point one: creativity maxim in action.)

The frame on the wall is also a recent addition; I'm eventually going to put a piece of fabric or something in it, but I'm not sure exactly what yet, so for now it's empty. Pretty green wall is showing through.

iPhone Inspiration: Winter spring blooms

So I've kind of decided that winter is my least favorite season. It used to be one of my favorites, because in the South it's really mild and basically amounts to an excuse to snuggle under blankets and eat chocolate and sausage balls and celebrate the birth of a religious figure you may or may not actually believe in. I always hated summer more than the other seasons, because I despise sweating when I'm not actually doing physical activity, which is essentially the definition of a Southern summer. Summer in the South still might be one of the worst things ever, but compared with winter in New York, it ain't that bad.

Winter in New York is more terrible, because it's a stealthy little bastard. Summer in the South sucks, but at least it sucks immediately. You walk outside one day in mid-May (or April) and, fuck, it's summer. You're wearing jeans and a tank top and you're suddenly aware that it's far too hot for such garments. You turn around, go back inside and put on a cute little summer dress with flip flops. You come back outside and shut the door behind you. Your dress would blow in the wind like in a cute indie movie, but it doesn't, because there is no wind. It's just hot as balls. Stagnant. Sticky. Thick. Sauna-y. And, immediately, you're like fuck this. Then it continues for three to four months, the entire duration of which your hair is in a ponytail because if it's down it sticks to your neck and is completely disgusting. Then suddenly it's fall and you remember why life is bearable.

By contrast, winter in New York starts out delightful. It's cold, but it's bearable, and it's kind of fun walking around in your big heavy coat and cute new scarf and vintage snow boots. All your friends are bundled up too, and you might go tromping through Rockefeller Plaza to see the Christmas tree. You might stop and get hot chocolates on the way.  There are little stringy lights up everywhere, and you're all AHHH! Christmas in New York is so magical!  You go home for Christmas but you can't wait to get back for New Year's. The snow falls outside your window, light little tufts of gorgeousness that settle into a big pile of happiness.

This continues for, like, a month and a half. Mid-January rolls around, and you suddenly realize you like winter a little less. The snow gets harder, and grayer. Piles of snow-happiness turn into mountains of hard, packed together snow-ice-street-grunge... stuff. It gets in your way when you are walking to the train. Then it melts and huge puddles form on street corners but they look like pavement at night and you step in them and your foot sinks a good four inches so it's a good fucking thing your mom gave you these awesome vintage snow boots because they are the Army tanks of shoes. Snow becomes wintry mix. You're like ugh but you deal with it because what else are you gonna do?

Then the end of February rolls around, and you're a fucking fire-breathing dragon, vengefully melting snow drifts, icicles, and possibly any people in your path. You turn the corner on your way to work and an icy cold blast hits you in the face and makes it impossible for you to breathe for three to four seconds because you just got the wind knocked out of you by other wind. When you can breathe again, you take a deep one in and then yell FUCK! or maybe even FUCK YOU! Snow is still piled on sidewalks but all you see is death and destruction, be it real or imagined/hoped for. You stay inside your office at lunchtime and order takeout Thai, refusing to acknowledge that weather even exists anymore. You scarf it down shamefully, flinging rice noodles and dumpling bits all over your desk and keyboard because you just don't give a shit. You snap at coworkers who kindly ask for bagels from the kitchen. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the office mirror and you barely recognize yourself. Who have you become? What has this New York winter done to you? Is that caked dumpling sauce in your eyebrow?

And then sometimes, you get a reminder that nothing lasts forever, and that this too shall pass. Yesterday, the universe - via the 4/5 train - gave me such a reminder: a woman carrying a bouquet of red tulips - my favorite flower - in her eco-friendly grocery bag. It was so New York, so Spring, and so very welcome.  I took a photo and played around with it on my iPhone - yeah, I have Photoshop mobile, what? - and decided to make weekly(ish) segments called iPhone Inspirations, in which I post stuff I've seen/written/pondered on my iPhone. I do this a lot, especially whilst traveling by train or bus.

 

  

 

Happy early Spring, everyone.