I’ve been asked to perform a piece that Allen Ginsberg used to perform with Philip, Ginsberg’s great Vietnam-era poem “Wichita Vortex Sutra.” Philip set it to music years ago, and there are a few great recordings of them performing it together, which you are just a google search away from, or try this YouTube clip, and at this point by the way are we still supposed to capitalize Google when we use it as a verb or adjective?

The Apple store isn’t a big venue so arrive early. Methinks hoards of storytelling fanatics will be arriving hoping to hear words like these. Hell, that’s why I’m going.

Official Website [via TAL]
Image [BK Paper]

You make me giggle, mr. advertisement. The way you make logic all topsy-turvy. I’m supposed to know that raw creativity can be stupid, but then history will absolve it. That’s neat. But tell me, please. What are people who don’t get it supposed to think? That glorifying fame-whores from the “Jersey Shore” stupid is cool?

The Putnam Avenue line starts at Jay Street/Burough Hall and runs into Bedstuy. I vaguely remember using it once when Anna was in town. It was pouring rain one evening and my wallet wasn’t fit for a cab. She wore her green dress that night, the one that fits her perfectly, but I can’t remember where we were going.

I took Fulton on my walk home tonight because Atlantic Ave. has run its course. I already know the potholes, scaffolding and cracks too well. The walk will soon become routine if I’m not careful. There is a water tower overlooking the heart of Prospect Heights and it’s my favorite in the entire city. On clear days you can see it from a dozen blocks away. But I don’t want to ruin our chemistry; the world is a better place when there’s good chemistry between..things. Too much of a good thing is never a good thing.

Festivities in Mexico usually commence on December 12th with the festivities of Our Lady of Guadalupe and end on January 6th with the Fiesta De Los Reyes. It’s a holiday season marked by ritual, pilgrimage and traditions. My holiday season ended my first day back at work, as did yours. Today I came across a decapitated Christmas ornament polar bear on Dean St. in Brooklyn. The weight of the holiday season must have been too great for this little guy. My guess: his rent check and bar tab from New Year’s Eve posted on the same day.

I’m jealous of people who love nature because I don’t. I like it. I hardly seek mountains, hillsides, forests, parks, etc. for refuge or inspiration. The only exception is deserts. I love deserts because they’re detested to a certain degree. Yet, place me in the middle of a city with a multitude of graffiti-stained walls and I feel like Augustus at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. But something occurred to me today: Is it passé to love a scene like above in a place like New York?

Look in the mirror here.

We gathered at Elsa Bar in Alphabet City to bid farewell to Rochelle (right). She’s leaving to South Africa to work on a project called “Hear Me Roar” intended to teach children the fundamentals of storytelling. Rochelle leaves Monday.

Mario (left) arrived around 6:26pmEST from the Bay Area, unpacked, scoped out his new spot and made it to Elsa Bar around 11:15pm. That’s hustling. He left New York City last September uncertain about his future. He’ll be starting his PhD in Sociology in New York City this year.

Our generation tends to bounce around everywhere because opportunity is abound (recent times prove otherwise, but it’s been the former for much of the 2000s). And with this stream of opportunity comes unrestrained movement, traveling and transience. We move to learn, investing energy in what I like to think of as on-the-ground learning. I am devout to this lifestyle, but last night reminded me how often I say goodbye to people I care about. Saying “See ya later”, “Until next time” and “Goodbye” is a common occurrence for me, and I haven’t yet mastered the art of being graceful about it. I hug too much, for one. Sometimes I demand people stay. It’s selfish and immature, but I can’t help. I’m a ballerina throwing dropkicks. One goes for now, and another returns; it’s how my “extended family” rolls.

New York City is a bit misty-eyed tonight because two of the city’s coolest residents decided an opportunity to live in South Africa for five months was just to good to pass up. We’re bidding them adios tonight. Flurries have been falling consistently for the last 24 hours and it doesn’t look to be letting up. I’m going to take this track, channel it through my bones and use it to keep my soul nice and warm. Let’s brindis to world travelers and global shakers!

There’s no time to photograph during the day unless I brave the pre-dawn Arctic gusts that howl throughout the night. Good thing lunchtime friends don’t mind an intrusive, obsessive, amateur photog to convince them a few clicks won’t hurt. I’m already feeling something I knew would occur regularly throughout this project, but hardly so soon: stress. “What the hell will I shoot next?” With that in mind, I simply looked up. You can go days without looking up in New York City.

How do you react when you have a beautiful assortment of cheese right in front of you? Do you smile? Do you sniff? Do you stand there, overwhelmed, intimidated, waiting for the reality to kick in that you’re in a market and you probably look weird? I had a severe craving for Finocchiona – a pork salami cured the Tuscan way and combined with fennel seeds to give it a distinctly sweet, left-out-in-the-barn-for-the-right-amount-of-time flavor. When I got home I made little sandwiches with Pepperjack cheese on top because I couldn’t afford to buy the good stuff.

The temperature was 29 degrees “FEELS LIKE 17″ but I needed some fresh air. I decided to explore my new neighborhood. I became transfixed by all the barren trees. I’d just been in Seattle a few days before where trees seem to never shed. This one looks like it sprung from a Tim Burton film. These were trying to keep me from seeing something, anything, everything behind them. This one, unfortunately, naturally, will fail to cushion Santa’s plunge. Above, a barren tree on a barren sidewalk in Brooklyn, NY.

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