The Girl Called Rachel


I have so much on my mind. There is the potential for so much to be written.

I should be using these empty days to be productive, but I can’t get myself to do anything.

This is a horrible feeling.

“Resistance knows that the more psychic energy we expend dredging and re-dredging the tired, boring injustices of our personal lives, the less juice we have to do our work.”

“The condition becomes a work of art in itself, a shadow version of the real creative act the victim is avoiding by expending so much care cultivating his condition.”

“Remember, the part of us that we imagine need healing is not the part we create from; that part is much deeper and stronger. The part we create from can’t be touched by anything our parents did, or society did. That part is unsullied, uncorrupted; soundproof, waterproof, and bulletproof. In fact, the more troubles we’ve got, the better and richer that part becomes.”

“Never forget: This very moment, we can change our lives. There never was a moment, and never will be, when we are without the power to alter our destiny. This second, we can turn the tables on Resistance. This second, we can sit down and do our work.

Those are segments (not chronological) of Steven Pressfield’s book The War of Art. Read it.

Time is a matter of fact/ And it’s gone and it’ll never come back/ And mine is wasted all the time/ Tears, stupid tears, bring me down/ Tie my brain into a knot/ These tears, stupid tears, bring me down

-Daniel Johnston

Look, I'm on MTV David

"Look, I'm on MTV, David." (Probably the most supremely happy moment I've ever seen. Happiness to the point of being pretty heartbreaking... Watch the documentary.)

I woke up this morning after a night full of strange and vivid dreams. My mother always told me how much she hated hearing about my dreams, so I’ll keep them to myself, but let me tell you they were like watching quirky short films that I only wish I could recreate when I’m awake. They were emotional and funny and scary and real; the kind that you are sort of sad to wake up from and you are reminded of all day.

Dreams are, by definition, creations of your own subconscious. It’s all you. All your creativity. So maybe if I’m feeling totally unmotivated and untalented, I should just crawl into bed and be reminded that in the back of my mind, underneath all of the neuroses and issues and walls, I have a thriving and original imagination that I could potentially tap.


See the ladybug?

See the ladybug?


Was all my work for naught?

Just a little note:

That last post has a lot of pictures and a video in it, so if you can’t see anything you may have to click the title to open it in a new window. It just took me so long to do, it would be nice for someone to see it.


from the Management.

P.S. I know this probably isn’t the best platform for 31 large pictures, but I couldn’t figure out anything more compact.

Can you tell my books are color-coded? Boy, that was an exciting day!

Can you tell my books are color-coded? Boy, that was an exciting day!

I’m glad there is an obvious “Draft” button available…

I’m going to read this January 15-21, 2009 issue of Time Out with the lipstick-kissed Barack Obama on the cover.

Is that a siren?

Is that a siren?

Is that a car alarm? It’s unsteady and breaking into song intermittently, but it has the right tone. Imagine your car alarm being a screeching electronic version of My Heart Will Go On. That’ll get some attention…

I can’t read a magazine while watching TV. It’s like my eyes need to work on one thing and my ears will be the ones being entertained. What music should I listen to…

What the fuck is happening out there? Is someone breaking into my house?

“I don’t envy you at that!” harharhar

Why the fuck do I not have a peephole! That is dangerous and inconvenient at a time like this. Isn’t this illegal? I’m so glad–

(For more of that story, please refer to Julia Rosendale’s wall.)

Hey I just called you and left a message of me holding the phone up to my door. There’s a lot of stuff going on directly outside my apartment, banging (trying to break into an apartment) ((I assume the resident of that apartment, but I don’t have a peephole and I’m not going to go outside to check.)) (((Isn’t it illegal to not have a peephole in …  Read MoreNYC?))) ((((I can smell a conflict in race relations in our near future, me not included)))) (((((There are a lot of footsteps and voices of neighbors that are freaking me out))))) ((((((There may soon be several men on my fire escape))))))(((((((And the front door is wide open in this subzero chill, the source of one of the conflicts.)))))))
So I may soon be pillaged or frozen to death and I wanted someone to have aural evidence, but I don’t think you heard anything.
((((((…I just realized I feel pretty well schizophreniac right now….))))))))))))))))))))))))
ps. I called you because I knew you wouldn’t pick up.

I feel like I can’t watch tv or listen to music, because I don’t want anyone to know I am in here. I’ll be forced outside to… Wait. What would I do? I certainly couldn’t break down the door if my linebacking neighbor was unsuccessful. So why do I need to feel guilty about about not going out to put in my 2¢.

How does this even happen without someone changing the locks on you? Or even then, really. Isn’t that what a locksmith is for? To open any lock?

Did someone do this to him? Is he in some kind of dramatic entanglement?

Is that a saw? It’s definitely something motorized. I guess that’s the sound of the locksmith’s pièce de résistance.

I could probably sue my landlord for some of my rent money back… Give me a damn peephole.

Oh wait. Maybe the neighborly thing to do was invite him in from the cold hallway while he waited for the locksmith. Prepare him a cup of coffee and a let him warm up. Who knows where he has just come from? “I was just walking home from my weekend volunteering at the soup kitchen. And I  got to my door and realized this little lock was about to cause me a heap of trouble. How gosh darn unlucky! Shucks, I knew I should have picked up that heads-up penny! But I don’t want to worry the locksmith. I’ll just break down the door with the brunt of my own shoulder, to the discontent of all my neighbors, and repair the door jamb on my own nickel.”

But isn’t my apartment feeling arctic? And the last time I was in the hallway the temperature was very comfortable… Maybe I should go out there…

Besides, he’s probably just getting home from his most recent one-night stand with a girl from Hoboken…

I just realized our doors are metal. He’s going to break the wall before he breaks the door. And then we’ll have construction going on for who knows long on my three-day weekend.

I think he’s in and listening to music to calm down. A little loud, guy… Now that he’s shaken the foundation of our building for two hours, I guess he doesn’t worry about making too much noise…

Note the scarf on inside.

Note the scarf on inside.