Old New good old Days

“I woke up at 5, there were no planes. There was no there to take them to.”

I woke up at 7, as I was reading Angelo’s status in that dream I thought: “Angelo would not be that specific.”

At a Radical Abacus party, later, I told Angelo his status, standing on extension chords, a morphing group curating the Spotify playlist.

“What is your favorite food?” Asked Jamie.

I said: “Whatever is for dinner… or any meal… that excludes animal suffering/environmental detriment… on semi-subjective scales… and has leafs on it… and sauce… Let me get back to you…”

Throughout the night I heard the question asked of others:

- “Pizza.”

- “Sushi.”

- “Sushi.”

- “Pizza.”

- “Pizza.”

Bea: “Some vegetable-based dish that is in season.”

Bea’s party question: “What is your favorite love song?”

Me: The live version of Heartbeats by The Knife and No Summer 4 U by OOooOOoo.

The Knife was played, dice was played, we sat by the bonfire, on the trampoline, up the wall. Old-new good-old days.

Days 8

I was jolted and startled. I leaned my head onto the windowsill and it was dark out. “Oh, that was obvious” I thought after fully waking up. I was pregnant with myself and didn’t know it until 8 months had passed. I was going to be born a Pisces. Cole was also having a baby in March.

That day, In another dream I took rocks from my window and realized they were eggs. They had cracked in my hand and I didn’t want to waste them, but didn’t want to eat almost-creature ovaries. I scrambled them for Deyla.

Pretty simple. Deyla is my friend, she eats meat, eggs are fertility, she is doing cool stuff and I want to nourish her. Cole is working on projects all the time, I am working on projects all the time, Cole and I are two fish, Deyla and I are childhood friends who used to be called “opposite twins.” Cole and Deyla are blue-eyed with golden locks, ducks on a strings, and lollypops.

Screenshot 2014-08-09 18.52.08

8 months, 8 is infinity turned 180º, two eggs make an 8 etc.

When an incision is made in an energetic-trajectory I end one journal and start another. “Days 8″ ended, now begins “Days 9.”

I started journaling consistently when I was 16, and looking back on some (now gone) computer files they tend to begin and end in correlation with dreams, soon forgotten.

Pine Sol

Noah’s fiancé, otherwise known as Santi and Dion, are often at the house without our being aware of it.

First the basement was trashed, then they cleaned it, now there’s a TV and a Wii to go with our collection of other people’s drums.

A stoic sneakiness was embodied when we were playing hide and go seek the other day and Santi remained under the up-turned troth-table for over and hour.

Santi is usually doing something uncommon and disciplined.


“Santi, do come over by the fire and tell me about your supplements”

Santi trotted behind mom, lifting the weights I had left out.

“Pine oil, pine oil with resin, pine oils with even more resin”

“What is pine oil?”

“Pine Sol”

“- Freshness”

“Resin activates immune system”

Noah from the other room: “but it’s poison isn’t it?”

“…to an extent… BUT”

Noah turned on music and I couldn’t hear the conversation any more.

We walked around the house doing a fashion show with bags on our heads, typical of Dion at work.


“Hey Santi, I dare you to take this shot of vinegar.”

That’s not really a dare because most of Santi’s diet is clay and apple cider vinegar. He’ll also eat whatever is for dinner around here.

His plan for the next 4 months is to move to the forest and live off the things you can live off of in the forest.

In the meantime he appears unexpectedly in the basement, listening to some pretty good Spanish music.

Dion asks me the password when I go down to the bass. The password is: “Santi is a hipster.”


Kristen mentioned that the way I flirt – by communicating infrequently and keeping wide personal space – seems Swedish.

I do feel slightly stilted about deepening interpersonal relationships – maybe because of a sensitivity to projected personal space. Just practice to be psychic.

Still, I am over saturated with the sweetness of friendship. It’s good to be around people who are better at communicating than I am.

I often deprive myself of sleep. More so, I deprive myself of intimacy.

An obvious point: I am always dreaming about water.

This morning I was dreaming that a woman asked me about an installation. She asked why there were clocks there and I asked her why she thought there were clocks there. She said that in dreams people can’t read time, and that can be a clue for the dream to become lucid. I looked at the clocks, read the time, and determined that we weren’t dreaming. Then I answered emails.

Everyone jokingly held hands in a circle at 4Square tonight and I felt elated by the physical contact. If it isn’t a joke it isn’t real.

I woke up not real.

I was in a line to enter the space we were going to be held. The guard showed my coworker photos of how they had tortured and killed her two daughters. One girl was upside down, legs over her head, burn marks on the backs of her thighs, the other an infant with blood spilling from her head.

At that point I was the coworker and the grief/shock were too big to contain in words. When I woke up I breathed deeply. I felt intense gratitude.

That morning the coworker said she had dreamed that I was helping her. I didn’t tell her about my dream. I helped her hack an app so she could communicate with her loved ones in Gaza. She doesn’t have two daughters, she has one small daughter and is pregnant with a son.

Another morning, golden lit, Bea and I were holding hands at SITE. We said that we had to be scheduled in the same gallery so we could continue to hold hands. I woke up to a text from her saying she had missed the train and asking me to cover part of her shift. Later we decided to move to Italy together and hold hands the whole way.

What I mean to express is… fuck it, let’s go to the beach.



Bea and I stayed up till 4 talking about philosophies/interpersonal interaction and giggling.

In the morning we had decorative breakfast, I packed her a lunch and drove her to work. I spent the morning sweeping ants off the counter and putting them outside, then bleaching/applying peppermint oil to confuse their scent trails. A two hour process.


I worked on projects until 9, then delivered a commemorative Warf plate/Lord of Dragon Lord merch from Will to Hirshey.

John, Sean, and I joined the 4 Square match. Hot game. Fat stacks of players. Noah and I danced around, Benji and I danced around. Sarah showed us her finely crafted animal sculptures.

Everyone went back to the Radical Abacus, danced, and popped some of the decorative popcorn. At the end of the night Benji tossed Sean’s keys into the air and they landed on the lip of a ceiling beam.

John and I stayed up till 6 talking about social structure/capitalism as the selling of scarcity, about the nature of the universe as contained, and concepts of infinity/probability.

His phone broke and I took a picture of it so that he could use it as his background.


I had a dream I was about to be dead, and I accepted what it felt like.

5 hours of sleep in two days. At around 3PM I started hallucinating lines of energy everywhere. I felt peaceful.

I also felt peaks and anxiety and troths of depression – with erratic consistency.

Still, I felt comfortable being human, thinking of all outcome as natural, in that everything in the universe is natural. Voicing these things with a dear friend made small self-contained human existence feel warmly relevant.

A ritual of weekend sleep deprivation. When I get home from work on Sunday I write and sing. I see clearly the slots where notes have to fall and melodies write themselves that way.

What could something that is infinite be expanding into?

Conceptual Kisses

I would hug a tree made out of newspaper. I ended up with tenfold hugs from the artist of said newspaper-ceiba, post beer/champagne/trampoline/fire/dance-party.


Bea, John, and I have formed a triad of giggly pretense. John house-sat for Lucy Lippard and drove her car, taking on the ideals of her bumper stickers:  “Keep your theology off my biology” “Save the Galisteo Basin”  “Women make great leaders – you’re following one.”

Unsettled Landscapes is good. Everyone likes it. For the member’s opening Ric Lum made hors d’ oeuvres with foods gathered around the rio grande. Site Guides missed out on snacks and after the show we were to help clean up the event section. Bea and I collected all the decorative legumes/corn/quinoa that were to be wasted in Slatko jars leftover from the last exhibit.


At the Public opening Bea and I came up with pick-up lines related to the show: “Let me settle the landscape of your body”- “I’m interested in the post-industrial colonization of pheromones” – We can get transcendental with non-figurate maps if you know what I mean.”

The Radical Abacus threw a party after the opening. Miller brought beer. Everyone else also brought beer. Merril (king-boss of exhibitions) brought an ax for the “hot wood” John bought at Smith’s. I made chile with a fraction of the aforementioned decorative legumes.  Gianfranco Focshino DJ’d. SITE staff/artists danced – more than I would have expected.


Blue Curry has a piece connected to a live-stream of the sculptures ships create coming into harbor in the Bahamas. Corresponding to their arrival are beach towels hung on a flag pole outside the museum. Tourists claim beach space with towels, so it makes sense that they are flags. At the after party we were going to play dice. We needed floorspace on which to roll so I laid out a towel. I mentioned this to Blue and he said he knew people would make fun of his piece. Little does he know Bea and I want to (do a project wherein we) kiss conceptual artists on the cheek. 


As we were informing guests the museum was closing, I told Miller, who was near his sculpture: “don’t touch the art.” He looked startled and I felt bad for the joke. By 4am at the party we had reconciled any miscommunication. There were endless cheek-kisses before he caught a taxi to a hotel to an airport to Columbia. 

I was trapped in fun and left after 5AM. At work the next day Bill had made apple crisp, which he assured me was vegan. “What a beautiful day” I said, to quote an earlier post-party-work-self.

That day two guests commented that I had changed the show for them. I should get a bonus for every time I am working while sleep deprived.


Didn’t Care

Dear nothing,

when I was nobody I didn’t care!




Can’t waste space!

Can’t waste 2,500 paperclips!

Can’t ever stop bleeding in the veins!

I love you me!




Who doesn’t have the tangles of school all through their houses?

Those who were lucky enough to go through fires?

Do you wish we had those pictures?

We can already be deleted if we want to have fun.

Back Home

Nosebleed clock is the alarm that works as well at 3am as it does at 9am. Welcome home.

Pre-nosebleed this morning I awoke to someone on the street saying: “Good morning!” I had been in a city with Adhit, taking an elevator. Noah’s alarm went off and I dozed till the nosebleed started. Still in dreams, shoving toilet paper up my nostril, I went inside the sounds.

Why would you feel bad about anything? Just be in that sound.

Hoku is dead.

I’m shocked that way a lot of mornings.

Then I think about what death is and continue to not know.

Just listen to music, drink lemon water, and make breakfast.

A sense of sad but peaceable introspection hangs around then floats away.


Lifting thousands of pounds of wood and metal, through clouds of gnats and 90+ degree sun. Gloves aren’t thorn-proof and we smell like pack-rat waste.

Dad and I got 100 bucks for 1150 pounds of steel at Capitol scrap!


Evening time and we go to Ian’s. Tisket a tasket as basket with two six-packs, traded in for beer-boxes and dolphin-killers (I don’t know what they are actually called).


My uncle has a stoned hospitality. He builds a house next to his house (of one room) in a thoughtful/relaxed manner while preparing food his pregnant wife. We brought building supplies. The next day we brought spring rolls with the beer and building supplies. We talked about melting coal found in the arroyo and casting things.


Dad and I went to Cap-Scrap again and made another $100. We got beer and the produce guy from Albertsons, who has worked there all my life, was there. “Guess I’m just a fruity guy.”

We got groceries at Ta Lin and loaded sheds onto truck and trailer. Dad started playing packman and we called it an early day.


Over 5 days we moved/got rid of around 8 tons of objects. It just happened to be the hottest part of summer, with forest fire smoke hanging around.

“It’s just part of this beautiful time we’re having.”


Keep You Awake

10460674_10152556581260505_90748832853787581_oFonzi, who I grew up with, offered me a place to stay in NY. He and girlfriend Delaney stayed at his place and I lived as apartment-proxy, in a corner room in one of those triangular buildings on diagonal streets. After Fonzi and Delaney got back from a niece’s talent show, we had a quick-quip fun-art critical-social catch-up/what-are-we-doing-with-our-lives.


Morgan, Fonzi, and I went to a giant-gay-underground-warehouse-party with concert-level sound and an infinite amount of lasers. Aside from constant access to water I realize I need a consistent supply of sounds like those. I saw Preston from Model Files in the crowd, got excited and texted Noah. Morgan told me Alexander Wang was there too. I danced non-stop-coyote-slingshot, drank one $7 beer, and walked from Bushwick to Williamsburg at 3:30 am.


Morgan and I had a dreamy catch-up friend-talk “I-haven’t-seen-you-since-high-school” “what-we-are-doing-with-our-lives.” We went to Best Pizza, they didn’t have vegan slices at that moment so we threw a brick through their window. We walked like a block and found a place that did have vegan slices. We went to the water. We saw people with ice cream cones. The people were emanating from a vegan ice cream truck. We went to a bodega and got vegan ice cream sandwiches/kombucha. We ate some of the cuties and gave some away in the park where we lay under a tree with everyone else in Brooklyn.


IMG_3851Sandra, Crokcet, and Chris signed the lease on a warehouse in Bushwick which happens to be across the street from an ice factory. By the time I visited Crocket had already contacted the factory and got a deal to fill Iceshelf with ice for its first opening in New York. Once the ice melts in Iceshelf people will be able to fill white water balloons from faucets on the truck.


The warehouse borders on some L train tracks and an expansive graveyard. Crocket found industrial ice packs there. Pretty cool. My friends were sleepy. Conversation revolved endlessly around details of the build out. “Like, we should have a music studio with a window in the floor?”


My hair was not David Lynch at the beach like I wanted because I had not been in salt water or hair product. It was making it so I couldn’t see. I did what you do in a city and got a free haircut. Afterward I tried on $500 sunglasses and realized I need $500 sunglasses to go with my free haircut. Instead I bought a white t shirt and some falafel on rice.

I spent time looking for the Earth Room and when I found it it turned out to be closed for the summer. I sat in the lobby outside the elevator of whatever apartments or offices were in the building and drank the rest of the water from my kombucha bottle. A man walked out from the stairway and nodded to me with a look of knowing. I gazed out the door, thinking about my breath. A dog came up and licked my face. I plugged my phone in under some mailboxes and waited for a while before taking a bird of paradise and using it to smash car windows. A cop walked by and waved. 

IMG_3850I walked two miles to meet my middle-school-best-friend, Serrana, at the sports bar next to her apartment. Mexico won their game so her boyfriend could sleep again, and she could go back to work/catch up with me. She is writing/directing plays and might get a job selling glasses. I thought about having those $500 glasses on my face. I took the subway back to Brooklyn and bought snacks. I was trying to think of a host-gift that wouldn’t just inconvenience the host so I bought coconut water.

Sandra and Chris came by to return Kristen’s boyfriend’s sleeping bag to me at 1 am. After <1.5 hours sleep I lugged a hundred pounds of supplies-suitcases across subway gates. At the last turn-sculpture help came from one benevolent stranger, asking me if I was coming to or going from NY. I said I couldn’t tell but I definitely wanted to be her roommate.

In line for the bus a man took cuts in front of me, and I wouldn’t have noticed except the man behind me started yelling “So you think you’re fucking special huh? What do think there’s a line for buddy, get to the back of the fucking line you jerk off – fucking scum.” – It went on like that. When I got to the airport they were calling my name, so I had to take cuts, and no one seemed to notice. At the gate they said the pilot had come to meet me due to my being so late. I said “I am sorry, I am the worst” and sat between some business-types. I don’t know how I was late, but I am New Mexican. 

In Dallas two people insisted I go in front of them. It was kind, but not logical considering I was 40 hours awake and confused by everything. “Thank you.” “- It doesn’t make a difference, we won’t get to Albuquerque any faster” said Texas-man with hat.

I sat next to buoyant tye-dye-straw-hat abq kid, who was coming back from Mexico. We talked about music, performing as multi-dimensional scales of preference  for one another – “You like band? You might also like band!” Airplane companion used to be sports-ball get-big but then learned art kids have more interesting parties. “At our parties we would literally hit each other and say balls.” We waited for bags and both of our dads were late to pick us up so it was true, we were old high school buddies.


I felt it to be so low to the ground and nothing was there. There were particles of slow-movement-dust and I half-napped gas-station. “I have to move to New York dad, you can’t swing a person in all-black without hitting a vegan restaurant.” “I went to a cool party.” “I got to stay in a place.” We got Vietnamese food at the restaurant where we get Vietnamese food in Albuquerque, across from the ax-swinging sculpture.

Dad handed me a beer, we hugged, and I cleaned my room. Noah had left a dust-lounge of pokemon cards. A Sublime record was tucked into my bed. I laughed and laughed.


Will and I drank like old times. He was all suit happy government job designing new forms for retirees and all the ladies at the office think he’s doing a great job. Still, on last check from Starbucks and me on a shoestring all along we felt we were spending too much on food and drink. He had made chile for when my chinatown bus was 2 hours late. Other than that, that week, made everything else also, except falafel.


We biked around. We saw the river and some geese. We saw a fort. We judged the things around us and laughed and were sarcastic. Will would be employed 9-5 and I would sit in the kitchen all day working on my next project, getting up to pour coffee, eat popsicles, and do pull ups. Rex, Wes, and Joel played Halo 3 in the living room.

In evenings we played frisbee and beer pong and went to Walden pond. We also finished watching Breaking Bad – gave me a case of victory-laps.

Nick came and we started an underground band in the basement.


Basement Underground was such a good band.

Rex and I had been placing bets on when Nick would bring mortality into conversation. He started talking about how he thinks it’s worse when people kill animals than each other. I said “that is funny because you work in a deli and you eat meat.” He was like, “oh yeah, okay I will go vegan.” I told him to make sure he gets enough b12 and vitamin D.


Will and Nick went to a Star Trek convention to buy a sailor moon backpack and I went to New York.