Well I just did a hell of a job of doing my own head in by going back and reading a load of shit I wrote just before I left New York. That's right, folks. I'm no Picasso had a past blog life, but that shit's all locked up tight now where no one can see, so don't bother looking for it.
It's amazing how ready I was to leave New York, and how much I was mentally preparing myself for it, long before it even happened. I've also forgotten how often bizarre little encounters were just as common (if not, actually, moreso) back in that city.
All the old cast of characters. My dozens of oddball roommates of all shapes and sizes. Dima, the seven foot tall jazz musician -- now, I'd like to find out what he's up to these days. I saw him one night right before I left. He randomly called out of the blue and I went down to see him play in some divey little bar on the proper island. We sat around having a few drinks and then said an awkwardly formal goodbye on the sidewalk outside.
Brendo's still around -- sent him an email last month and got a prompt response about how he's still in the States (swore he wouldn't be, last we talked), still in New York and still avoiding anything resembling a proper life.
And Skinny Whiteboy Poet. I had forgotten how utterly out of hand that entire situation got. Misguided from the beginning and taking a huge turn for the worse after I got shitfaced at "my" (I wasn't actually responsible for it, but my apartment was comandeered) dinner party and screamed at him about being a racist and a classist. For possibly what may have ended up being literally hours. Mike was so fucking hilariously rude to him straight to his face. And he deserved every ounce of it.
How many past lives do I actually have? I tend to leave them there in the past, more often than not, and rarely reflect back on them. But it's odd how, even though it was just a couple of years ago, it seems like a completely different world. Or at least a completely different person.
Well, I'll just live this one for now. Until I start to get that nagging feeling that the next one's about to begin.
- I'm no Picasso
- This is a tale of the seaports where chance brings the traveler: he clambers a hillside and such things come to pass.
Map
17 comments:
I remember being younger, and my boyfriend at that time broke up with me. Typical dramatic teenage girl "but I love him!!" ensued, and I seriously thought it was the end of the world. Little did I know at THAT time, had it not been for that situation, I wouldn't have met the people I did, who introduced me to my husband.
It's funny how these things work.
Looking forward is one of the best things we can do, in my opinion, though. :)
There is no New York anymore.
Sigh.
Nearly time to leave here for me at least!
New York died with those last few late mornings in the diner on DeKalb, after we couldn't bear to go to the other one anymore. Talking about going to war. That was the end of that.
It did indeed.
Christ almighty. That really does seem like a million years ago.
Doesn't it? I thought it did already, but looking back at that stuff last night... just a whole other life.
purty much. At least what may be the worst is behind us. One day, for old times sake, we'll be in a dinner together somewhere in America eating muffins and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes bitching about something. And then Brian White will interrupt us.
Please no. Please, please no.
"Oh um hi I um was um I was yesterday I was going to call you but um but I I um I fell asleep."
Mike: "..... Yeah. Anyway."
Haha. Whatdaya think the odds are he'll find this and read it?
5-2?
I mean. That was a dick move. You can't deny that.
"I was going to call you but I fell asleep."
He's lucky I only said yeah anyway....
didn't he say something about me being an asshole at one point?
Pffff.... kettle to pot... kettle to pot
Haha I can't remember what he said exactly... actually I think he said something about you seeming like you didn't like him. Like everytime he tried to talk to you, something just went wrong. And all I could think of to say back was, "Well Mike doesn't really like anyone...."
"He likes you."
"Yeah, but.... hm."
Haha.
Haha I guess so. I think there were vague references to basing a comic book on it at some point.
Hm. Just come on over to the dark side. You know shit's better over here....
Right?
Hey Liz. Who would win in a fight; Jack Black or Jack White?
I have a strange feeling they'd just end up being the best of friends.
Yikes, looks like it's become a private conversation.
Anyways, Liz: the best part about reading your blog is that you're bringing this New York sensibility to the whole Korean experience. I think it's the main source of tension in the poetry-esque-ness of your writing. New York is one place I would love to live/work, but it's strictly aspirational for me at this point of my 'career'.
Yeah sorry. That happens fairly quickly with me and Mike. I blame the fact that we used to both be on livejournal. Haha.
Uh man I guess so. I always think it's really funny when someone says something about me being "from" New York or having "New Yorker" qualities, because in my own mind, I'm so goddamn Texan. But it's probably there a bit. New York is a fantastic city, but it's hard. Definitely worth it, for a while, but I don't think I'll ever live there again. Plus the art/poetry world is just so.... it was great to be a baby writer there. But that shit is seriously all-consuming, nepotistic and in your face. At the end, I couldn't really take it anymore. It had started to feel like New York art was the only kind of art there was in the whole world.
Liz. This: "New York is a fantastic city, but it's hard. Definitely worth it, for a while, but I don't think I'll ever live there again. Plus the art/poetry world is just so.... it was great to be a baby writer there. But that shit is seriously all-consuming, nepotistic and in your face. At the end, I couldn't really take it anymore. It had started to feel like New York art was the only kind of art there was in the whole world."
One hundred percent. Tom Waits once said he left New York because it was no town for a hot head. It feeds you into nasty business and you've got to find a way out before it devours you.
I predict being in Portland in a year in a New York themed bagel shop in the Hawthorn district, and me saying, "You know. I've always wanted to go to New York."
Hi Liz+Mike, It's nice to get your real-world testimonials about New York.
At the back of my mind, I've always sensed that it'll be a case of 생각보다 별로인데 - what you'll see being absolutely different from what you've thought. But I guess the place will continue to suck in the baby writers. For people like me, it's the last remaining vestige of the mythical West (it's only East if you're American).
Funny: just days ago someone told me the exact same thing about New York art scenesters believing that 'real' art can only come from New York.
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