Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Grey Area: A liminal, undefinable space & The Class of 2010
I have titled this blog 'Grey Area', there are several reasons for this, such as having difficulty channeling my thoughts into one concise narrative, my lack of sleep, graduation, and the place where i feel i have drifted to in the past 7 days.
A Grey Area has many meanings:
it is the space you enter when you convince yourself (for whatever reason, mine being the ghetto i am currently residing in) that you can pull an all nighter. Only around 4am you enter a somnambulistic state where, even without drugs everything is that little bit more intense.
it is the anti-climax of graduating, feeling like although you have achieved something, you actually haven't acheived anything. It is feeling like you should be there in body, not just in spirit, or whatever the little booklet decrees. It is the worry that all the unique, talented, crazy people you met their you might never see again. The friendship will drown out into the grey area that is FACEBOOK.
And, it is the realisation that for all their faults, the class of 2010 were anything but grey.
it is trying to understand a series of events that strangely link, and keep reoccurring only you feel like you are without the verbal dexterity to convey.
Shit, that is a lot of grey, and this blog may not make much sense, (but i beg you, keep reading!)
the following areas are grey and exist separately, but before this entry is over, I will attempt to unite them under one celestial (grey) veil.
Peter Berlin
Haunted exhibition
World trade centre memorial museum
Process, documentation and reiteration.
To begin with then: THAT MAN, PETER BERLIN
As part of the Hot festival, we are showing a series of documantry films. Last week it was the turn of Jim Tushinski and That Man: Peter Berlin.
Simply, Berlin was the face for the sex-liberated 70's. He was a model, but above and beyond that he was an icon for process, documentation and reiteration, allbeit not a very obvious one.
Mostly, he was not Peter Berlin.
he was the artist, the model, the camera man and the producer. watching the documentary, there was no irony, like his image suggests, he was self creation of self identity. However, what took him away from the label and brand of typical pornography? Look at his image, it is more like a painting because his character is so embellished, HE fetishises his own image, he sewed the clothes, staged the set and took the photos.
but, if we build a persona like this, how do we make peace with it? Maybe this artist doesn't, and you see that he doesn't when he says things like 'only men over 40 should go to war, they are finished.' It is a terribly vain statement, but somehow it is very human in its vanity.
When asked if he set out to be famous, he responded
'No, no, you are setting out to be loved, and wanted, that is what we all want.'
now, here is where it becomes ironic he then claims that there is no human contact beyond the visual, instead it is we, the viewers, who invent his personality, and it is one that is rather compelling.
Photography, image, appropriation.
Marilyn Monroe was one thing, but Norma Jean was a whole different story....
Haunted: Contemporary photography, video and performance
Okay, so there was no Peter Berlin here, but I am going to find a space for him somehow.
This is where the grey turns pale.
This exhibition at the Guggenheim suggested that all contemporary photography and performance is somehow haunted by the past. What struck out to me though, as with Peter Berlin's one man show, was the power and importance of re appropriation and documentation, inso much that media, for many of the artists included, such as: Gina pane, Marina Abramovich, Joan Jonas and Christian Boltanski, is innumerable for art.
Clearly, photography and film are the bastions that compliment the art of live performance, but in specific work like that of Gina Pane they don't just compliment. photography and film can be mapped onto documentation and process, and it is this which IS the art, or the performance. it is the brain behind the final image.
If then, the process is the brain, and the final thing is the body or performance, then surely the art is in the process? (I understand i am being confusing, I am confused myself).
Simply, if art is art then it cannot be brainless, right?
Daniel C. Dennett, reckons that real meaning is meaningless, because it comes through words and ideas which are emergent from us, who are somewhat meaningless processes. So if this is true, as well as really fucking frustrating, for these artists (PB included!) meaning can be arrived at from seemingly meaningless ideas... OR the simplicity in complexity....
Peter Berlin, brought NEW meanings to an otherwise defined canvas of the human body. He changed sex, from sexy to mysterious and transformed pornography into a somehow depth ridden genre.
You define the meaning, you set the tone.
And a trace is left.... because it is temporal, the process is the performance. Now, Peter Berlin cannot slide into Haunted's frame, but why not? If contemporary performance has become obsessed with ripping down the romantic figure, and attacking it's glorification, then process, documentation have become the catalyst for this obsession. Both Pb and Haunted recode objects and bodies normal functions into vessels of communication, with personal purpose.
Equally however, this work may also be seen to convey identity in crisis, identity in the grey area. For example, artists like Orlan, who has repeatedly manipulated her facial features through plastic surgery, so that she may 'become'.
But it really so different a manipulation.....graduation....with gowns and performative acts, is definitely 'becoming something', which lets face it, wants to be loved, and wanted.
I saw myself turn grey when I entered the piece entitled 'stillness' by Tactia Dean.
By entering the space the performance was an installation of 6 films, all playing at different angles from film reels. Moving around the space (which was necessary to get through the exhibition) you become part of the performance. Your ordinary self becomes enmeshed in the work of art. You incorparate it, turning into a grey faceless area, a shadow attacks the playing scene.
Alternate that reality, and then you become incorparated into it in a whole different way. Me and Chris were....
World Trade Centre Memorial Museum
This was history, documentation, and reiteration, on a global scale. Manipulation has many forms, just like the grey area. Here the meaning of the image, sound bite and object is autonomous and not open to interpretation. It is soley subjective, with one meaning: to traumatise us. There is no room for an active imagining spectator, we are meant to just greive I guess.
All pretentiousness aside, it was truly sad, and very moving.
But when images are given centre stage, to reiterate the process, the media swell that surrounds diasters such as the 9/11 attacks become globally significant.
When does it cease being 'theirs' and begin to be 'ours'?
is it when the 3000 or so photographs of victims faces line a wall so that we can take our own photo of the photo?
people did this, I couldnt understand it?
Propagation is furthered, as is process and reiteration in the grey haze that is a large TV screen.
It silently plays out the names of all the victims of 9/11, running at 4 1/2 hours in length.
before it stops.
and then starts again.
Reiterating the cultural condition.
So that is my grey area as it stand currently. I am sorry if there has been confusion, I myself am confused! but wanted to try and get some of it down.
Now for the fun!
I squared my ass with the law, I am paying installments (so they assume) but I shall be boarding my flight without handing them a wooden nickel.
Chris came, and then she went, which was a bummer, we had a right laugh, in various locations. (Everyone tel her to buy raybans please, they clearer suit her)
The SOPRANOS tour we ventured out on was BRILLIANT.
I was asked to stop answering the trivia Q's because I was getting them all right, we went to the BADA BING, Holster's where the final scene was filmed, and other hot spots of the show.
I met Vito, he is huge, and has had a ridiculous amount of plastic surgery. C'mon son.
Then, I was incepted.
tip-top-di-caprio.
A lighter end, to a crazy few days intense speculation.
The energy is here,
and in the frozen Earth time,
my immobalised mind and body keep going..
so I can take to my craft,
for further investigation.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Home is Where the ART is.
Hello all.
So, I have been unable to post for a while, there have been several reasons for this, so keep reading and you shall find out why.
Since my last blog, much has happened I have left this world and come back changed.
My first weekend saw me tackle NYC PRIDE. Not only was the sheer size of the parade unbelievable, but there seemed to be so much more involved, or at steak for the paraders. The trash wasn't trashy.
Uk pride consists mainly, (from my experience) of young people getting ridiculously drunk and over using their GHD's, in order to maintain maximum attention. It should be noted, there is nothing wrong with these intentions, (I have them too) but if you were to ask them what Pride was really all about would they all know?
NY Pride was without this ignorance. The variety of floats, and marchers seemed to prove this.
While it is true that there is never a single community, just communities, NYC pride was radical without limitations. The police and fire dept marched alongside Trans men and women, I am certain this does not happen in the UK?
There was solidarity, and to many New Yorker's that is important.
I quickly made friends with Britanny and Gwen, who wasted no time in introducing me to famous bars such as the Cubby Hole. Women as far as the eye could see.
Several PBR's later, I was steaming in the heat. The heat bakes you slowly. The flora and fauna of this island stick to your back.
I explored, and then explored some more, and New Yorker's began to grow friendlier.
Then Annie Lanzilotte came down and took me under her wing. She is an inspiration. Talking greatly about the importance of process in performance. This is something I think we can all relate too. Well, those of use who have struggled with process in the past. She maintains that performance and the processes that produce it can't be forced. Now I know this, but there is a problem with that, when you have been surrounded by great artists, and ingenious ideas and all you want to do is produce something of equal measure. it doesn't just come? Should it just come?
Annie said that when we are children and we go outside and play in the mud, we make a world. It is nonsensical, but we don't worry or think about it, we just build a world and it grows because its natural. As adults we lose this somehow. I think it is true. Finding that balance, when it just 'works'. Like when Peggy Shaw just performs, or somebody else you have seen were it is just a naturalness. Very often, natural is brilliant.
There is not much time to dwell here.
I 86'ed my hostel and made a dash to the upper west side.
bare brick walls and that solitary house plant.
Peter Bruce Clarke and Columbia University, which sports a much more impressive library than Queen Mary.
Then the work began. The work of a non profit organization and all the time, effort and little moments that make it what it is.
I have been doing everything from emailing artists, to learning how fund raising is done. Taking calls, making reservations, giving artistic assistance, and ensuring that the artists have as much or as little as they need.
The space is a quarried hole that stretches back and back into an old building on the Bowery. A giant space that sickens with simplicity and extravagance. The air is thick with excitement, even in the recycling room.
Artists are coming and going, but us interns work till the magnesium gleam of the skyscrapers disappear and give way to the moon.
Check out the goings on at www.dixonplace.org.
Then, the inevitable happened.
My wallet was stolen, just as I was starting to settle and human contact was becoming less lacking. A nice gentleman, (a blatant drunk) helped me out though, all was not lost!
I took a midnight walk to Ground Zero, stayed for a while, and counted how many mini USA flags there were sticking out of every single machine and mechanical device that crowds the empty space. Needless to say there are a lot!
thennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, I thought my passport was stolen. I am not going into this one, it was at Western Union, where I had to go to get money, sans wallet.
Then I couch-surfed.....
Alison Wright, artist, graphic novel illustrator, boss drawings.
Charlie the cat aptly named after: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM
Charlie was a terror, but a sweet one.
Me and Alison attended a roof top artist evening, and on the way home, we saw the G train a'comin. So we ran to catch it, (as the subway in NY is never reliable or consistent) Little did we know there is a police station located in this specific station.
Impulsively,
Girlishly,
and full of silliness, we cast aside our monthly rail passes and ran under a police barrier....only to be stopped firmly in our tracks by officer Duane. (I forget his last name). He wasted no time in reading us the green-cross fucking code of subway bylaws and proceeded to cuff us both, while we were each checked out. Quicker than you can say ivejustbeenarrestedforjumpingthesubway, I found myself sat in a typists side room, cuffed, hands behind my back while Alison was reprimanded and put in a cell because she had some prior offense from like 72 years ago.
By this time, I was clearly a felon, my toilet requests were ignored, and my scouse Italian status was not going to get me out of this.
Luckily, they took pity on me, by way of a $100 dollar fine (which i have no intention of paying) and released me without charge.
Poor Alison had to sweat it out with the nimrods on those specially designed benches you just can't sleep on.
Moving on.
I have explored and checked out the following places for my budding peers which are built on experimental performance art. (they don't know what Live art is over here)
However, before you all go and exhaust this list, you should note that I don't think its quite as out there over here, as it is in our glorious bubble.
MOMA
http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1097
The Kitchen
http://www.thekitchen.org/event/210/0/1/
The lincon Centre
http://new.lincolncenter.org/live/
The Bowery Poetry Club
PS122
http://www.ps122.org/
Here
http://www.here.org/shows/detail/300/
NY Alive
http://www.newyorkcityalive.com/
The flea theatre
http://www.theflea.org/
The CAVE
STREB LAB
ST ANNS WAREHOUSE
CHOCOLATE FACTORY
SOHO REP
madehereproject.org
I went to my first THINK TANK the other evening, which is a Live Art event surrounding the American dream. Very much a work in progress which has different areas of what we may consider the American Dream. The think tank is kind of a long table event without the long table. It involves people writing down questions on the topic of choice, in this case FREEDOM, and then splitting off into small groups to discuss it before reforming as one large group to discuss findings.
It was fantastic and a brilliant tool for research and devising.
I wrote down: How free is democracy? As this is something that I continue to question from our course at uni: Modernism and Democracy. Talking with Americans about this I discovered the same contradictions... that is really isn't? Or if it is, then it is freedom with limitations. Interestingly it spanned to space, and racism, to government factions and the fact that recently congress began to recognize industries and companies in America as 'people'.
Leave you with this: http://www.here.org/shows/detail/300/
During my exploring, I found Wooster Avenue, and the home of the legendary Wooster Group.
I knocked on the door, and offered my services, and I spent a day interning there. I am hoping it will happen again. It only involved answering emails and running messages...but I saw the space, I felt the atmosphere, and it will stay with me for a long ass time.
I also found the WOW cafe. It is a single room, with a makeshift bar and when i opened the door just a lone girl playing her guitar. (yes I know, how saccharine). There place needs a re-paint, but this tuesday Hollie and I are joining the collective. We go, sit in the circle and can write our own ticket, (apparently). So, we are going.
I have befriended lots of Americans. Namely Antonio my Jamaican Deli store owner. JAH.
and then I moved in with a Priestess performance Artist, Simba, Brooklyn is the town for women. Her halfway house hosts every nationality and artist going.
So I am setting off at a steady pace. Every day my shirt sticks uncomfortably to my back. But I love it here, there are lots of stupid wankers with no morality, plenty of factory fodder, and something that is just completely compelling.
I plead clemency, and self denial.
So, I have been unable to post for a while, there have been several reasons for this, so keep reading and you shall find out why.
Since my last blog, much has happened I have left this world and come back changed.
My first weekend saw me tackle NYC PRIDE. Not only was the sheer size of the parade unbelievable, but there seemed to be so much more involved, or at steak for the paraders. The trash wasn't trashy.
Uk pride consists mainly, (from my experience) of young people getting ridiculously drunk and over using their GHD's, in order to maintain maximum attention. It should be noted, there is nothing wrong with these intentions, (I have them too) but if you were to ask them what Pride was really all about would they all know?
NY Pride was without this ignorance. The variety of floats, and marchers seemed to prove this.
While it is true that there is never a single community, just communities, NYC pride was radical without limitations. The police and fire dept marched alongside Trans men and women, I am certain this does not happen in the UK?
There was solidarity, and to many New Yorker's that is important.
I quickly made friends with Britanny and Gwen, who wasted no time in introducing me to famous bars such as the Cubby Hole. Women as far as the eye could see.
Several PBR's later, I was steaming in the heat. The heat bakes you slowly. The flora and fauna of this island stick to your back.
I explored, and then explored some more, and New Yorker's began to grow friendlier.
Then Annie Lanzilotte came down and took me under her wing. She is an inspiration. Talking greatly about the importance of process in performance. This is something I think we can all relate too. Well, those of use who have struggled with process in the past. She maintains that performance and the processes that produce it can't be forced. Now I know this, but there is a problem with that, when you have been surrounded by great artists, and ingenious ideas and all you want to do is produce something of equal measure. it doesn't just come? Should it just come?
Annie said that when we are children and we go outside and play in the mud, we make a world. It is nonsensical, but we don't worry or think about it, we just build a world and it grows because its natural. As adults we lose this somehow. I think it is true. Finding that balance, when it just 'works'. Like when Peggy Shaw just performs, or somebody else you have seen were it is just a naturalness. Very often, natural is brilliant.
There is not much time to dwell here.
I 86'ed my hostel and made a dash to the upper west side.
bare brick walls and that solitary house plant.
Peter Bruce Clarke and Columbia University, which sports a much more impressive library than Queen Mary.
Then the work began. The work of a non profit organization and all the time, effort and little moments that make it what it is.
I have been doing everything from emailing artists, to learning how fund raising is done. Taking calls, making reservations, giving artistic assistance, and ensuring that the artists have as much or as little as they need.
The space is a quarried hole that stretches back and back into an old building on the Bowery. A giant space that sickens with simplicity and extravagance. The air is thick with excitement, even in the recycling room.
Artists are coming and going, but us interns work till the magnesium gleam of the skyscrapers disappear and give way to the moon.
Check out the goings on at www.dixonplace.org.
Then, the inevitable happened.
My wallet was stolen, just as I was starting to settle and human contact was becoming less lacking. A nice gentleman, (a blatant drunk) helped me out though, all was not lost!
I took a midnight walk to Ground Zero, stayed for a while, and counted how many mini USA flags there were sticking out of every single machine and mechanical device that crowds the empty space. Needless to say there are a lot!
thennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, I thought my passport was stolen. I am not going into this one, it was at Western Union, where I had to go to get money, sans wallet.
Then I couch-surfed.....
Alison Wright, artist, graphic novel illustrator, boss drawings.
Charlie the cat aptly named after: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM
Charlie was a terror, but a sweet one.
Me and Alison attended a roof top artist evening, and on the way home, we saw the G train a'comin. So we ran to catch it, (as the subway in NY is never reliable or consistent) Little did we know there is a police station located in this specific station.
Impulsively,
Girlishly,
and full of silliness, we cast aside our monthly rail passes and ran under a police barrier....only to be stopped firmly in our tracks by officer Duane. (I forget his last name). He wasted no time in reading us the green-cross fucking code of subway bylaws and proceeded to cuff us both, while we were each checked out. Quicker than you can say ivejustbeenarrestedforjumpingthesubway, I found myself sat in a typists side room, cuffed, hands behind my back while Alison was reprimanded and put in a cell because she had some prior offense from like 72 years ago.
By this time, I was clearly a felon, my toilet requests were ignored, and my scouse Italian status was not going to get me out of this.
Luckily, they took pity on me, by way of a $100 dollar fine (which i have no intention of paying) and released me without charge.
Poor Alison had to sweat it out with the nimrods on those specially designed benches you just can't sleep on.
Moving on.
I have explored and checked out the following places for my budding peers which are built on experimental performance art. (they don't know what Live art is over here)
However, before you all go and exhaust this list, you should note that I don't think its quite as out there over here, as it is in our glorious bubble.
MOMA
http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1097
The Kitchen
http://www.thekitchen.org/event/210/0/1/
The lincon Centre
http://new.lincolncenter.org/live/
The Bowery Poetry Club
PS122
http://www.ps122.org/
Here
http://www.here.org/shows/detail/300/
NY Alive
http://www.newyorkcityalive.com/
The flea theatre
http://www.theflea.org/
The CAVE
STREB LAB
ST ANNS WAREHOUSE
CHOCOLATE FACTORY
SOHO REP
madehereproject.org
I went to my first THINK TANK the other evening, which is a Live Art event surrounding the American dream. Very much a work in progress which has different areas of what we may consider the American Dream. The think tank is kind of a long table event without the long table. It involves people writing down questions on the topic of choice, in this case FREEDOM, and then splitting off into small groups to discuss it before reforming as one large group to discuss findings.
It was fantastic and a brilliant tool for research and devising.
I wrote down: How free is democracy? As this is something that I continue to question from our course at uni: Modernism and Democracy. Talking with Americans about this I discovered the same contradictions... that is really isn't? Or if it is, then it is freedom with limitations. Interestingly it spanned to space, and racism, to government factions and the fact that recently congress began to recognize industries and companies in America as 'people'.
Leave you with this: http://www.here.org/shows/detail/300/
During my exploring, I found Wooster Avenue, and the home of the legendary Wooster Group.
I knocked on the door, and offered my services, and I spent a day interning there. I am hoping it will happen again. It only involved answering emails and running messages...but I saw the space, I felt the atmosphere, and it will stay with me for a long ass time.
I also found the WOW cafe. It is a single room, with a makeshift bar and when i opened the door just a lone girl playing her guitar. (yes I know, how saccharine). There place needs a re-paint, but this tuesday Hollie and I are joining the collective. We go, sit in the circle and can write our own ticket, (apparently). So, we are going.
I have befriended lots of Americans. Namely Antonio my Jamaican Deli store owner. JAH.
and then I moved in with a Priestess performance Artist, Simba, Brooklyn is the town for women. Her halfway house hosts every nationality and artist going.
So I am setting off at a steady pace. Every day my shirt sticks uncomfortably to my back. But I love it here, there are lots of stupid wankers with no morality, plenty of factory fodder, and something that is just completely compelling.
I plead clemency, and self denial.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Day 3: America, I am addressing you.
A very old friend posted a comment on the blog wall before, it was something I wrote when I was 16. He kept it, and still has it after all this time.
Andy Wilkinson, you're an industrious little fucker.
It's a pretty fitting way to begin.
#What is America?#
America is fat, America is phat, America is black, America is white, America is trailer trash, prostitutes, popcorn and Paris Hilton. America is crack, America is candy, America is coming home to find your mom's had a boob job. America is rap, rape and rollerdex. America is George Bush fucking the world over, America is crime, America is finding a chicken abscess in your wendys. America is waking up to find your life is being governed by the terminator, America is kegs, killing and contradiction. America is calling your kids Britney and Courtney, Lorryanne and Grechin. America is a year in rehab, AA and juvenile hall. America is a crack dealer tattooing a g-unit sign onto you're chest. America is greed, gluttony and oversized pretzels, America is blonde bitches faking an orgasm. America is...'
* not sure if there is anymore.
'You wrote that back in school, kept it all these years, looks really old and is covered in stains that one can only describe as either blood or Alex's brown make-up.'
Andy's take on things, and mainly my rebellious nature, which Mandy was desparing of:
'She stands at the gates, laughing about the escapedes of Natalie White AKA NOL (Not out lesbian) as she was then known as, and her unfortunate incident involving an overpriced slice of pizza on the night bus back from G-Bar.
She was too casually dressed down for school, heavilly ripped jeans on bottom, a retro Adidas, orange jacket on top. She should of been at Mrs Upton's psychology lesson, not standing at the school gates, sniffing poppers.
That was when he walked towards her. That, short, round bald man. Mr Price was the crazed R.E teacher who still had it in for Anna for her part in the execution of numerous 6th form centre windows involving Miller, and Andy, the biggest scally in Seacombe and a famous rugby ball.
Anna knew that smoking at the school gates was strictly prohibited, but of course, Anna liked to break the rules. He approaches the gates, the crowd gathers, this was Anna's stage, the fresh cigarette smoke O's elagently exit her mouth.
The tension rises, everyone knew that what Anna did next was gonna have a detrimental effect on her already 'falling from grace' reputation amongst the Mosslands elite.
He begins to scream and shout, she turns to him and awards the crowd by slapping the inside of her thighs and screams at him, KISS MY F*****G GRITS!
Those were the reasons, and this is New York.
Yesterday saw me walk a good 7 miles of the city, and I actually met some pretty friendly people. There is no denying the sheer size of this place, and all the buildings, including the Empire State, it is sickeningly big.
After a few hours I found Dixon Place on the Bowery. A tiny little building, but once inside the shrine opens up and there is a beautiful space where much of the action will be taking place.
It is hard to believe that this all began in Ellie Covan's living room in 1986. One year she hosted 400 shows there.
How far it has come.
The festival was kicked off last night with a party. Boomtown.
Met the team all ace, and then was introduced to Annie Lanzillotte. I think the shared heritge was a bonus. We chatted, which means she mainly quizzed me. What a woman. To top it off, she got me up to introduce myself, and we soon discovered that no New Yorker has ever met an Italian scouser.
Today is Pride.
Time to go and be Proud.
Danger prone, with too much gel and a whiff of my dad's cologne.
X
Andy Wilkinson, you're an industrious little fucker.
It's a pretty fitting way to begin.
#What is America?#
America is fat, America is phat, America is black, America is white, America is trailer trash, prostitutes, popcorn and Paris Hilton. America is crack, America is candy, America is coming home to find your mom's had a boob job. America is rap, rape and rollerdex. America is George Bush fucking the world over, America is crime, America is finding a chicken abscess in your wendys. America is waking up to find your life is being governed by the terminator, America is kegs, killing and contradiction. America is calling your kids Britney and Courtney, Lorryanne and Grechin. America is a year in rehab, AA and juvenile hall. America is a crack dealer tattooing a g-unit sign onto you're chest. America is greed, gluttony and oversized pretzels, America is blonde bitches faking an orgasm. America is...'
* not sure if there is anymore.
'You wrote that back in school, kept it all these years, looks really old and is covered in stains that one can only describe as either blood or Alex's brown make-up.'
Andy's take on things, and mainly my rebellious nature, which Mandy was desparing of:
'She stands at the gates, laughing about the escapedes of Natalie White AKA NOL (Not out lesbian) as she was then known as, and her unfortunate incident involving an overpriced slice of pizza on the night bus back from G-Bar.
She was too casually dressed down for school, heavilly ripped jeans on bottom, a retro Adidas, orange jacket on top. She should of been at Mrs Upton's psychology lesson, not standing at the school gates, sniffing poppers.
That was when he walked towards her. That, short, round bald man. Mr Price was the crazed R.E teacher who still had it in for Anna for her part in the execution of numerous 6th form centre windows involving Miller, and Andy, the biggest scally in Seacombe and a famous rugby ball.
Anna knew that smoking at the school gates was strictly prohibited, but of course, Anna liked to break the rules. He approaches the gates, the crowd gathers, this was Anna's stage, the fresh cigarette smoke O's elagently exit her mouth.
The tension rises, everyone knew that what Anna did next was gonna have a detrimental effect on her already 'falling from grace' reputation amongst the Mosslands elite.
He begins to scream and shout, she turns to him and awards the crowd by slapping the inside of her thighs and screams at him, KISS MY F*****G GRITS!
Those were the reasons, and this is New York.
Yesterday saw me walk a good 7 miles of the city, and I actually met some pretty friendly people. There is no denying the sheer size of this place, and all the buildings, including the Empire State, it is sickeningly big.
After a few hours I found Dixon Place on the Bowery. A tiny little building, but once inside the shrine opens up and there is a beautiful space where much of the action will be taking place.
It is hard to believe that this all began in Ellie Covan's living room in 1986. One year she hosted 400 shows there.
How far it has come.
The festival was kicked off last night with a party. Boomtown.
Met the team all ace, and then was introduced to Annie Lanzillotte. I think the shared heritge was a bonus. We chatted, which means she mainly quizzed me. What a woman. To top it off, she got me up to introduce myself, and we soon discovered that no New Yorker has ever met an Italian scouser.
Today is Pride.
Time to go and be Proud.
Danger prone, with too much gel and a whiff of my dad's cologne.
X
Friday, June 25, 2010
47th and 10th Street. Day 1. Chicken, or Beef?
I have arrived,
and thought the best way to keep up to date with everything and everyone would be to start a blog.
Today, I have:
Seen a crack whore and in the process was offered crack/crank.
Been honked at, sworn at, and got the bird!
Ridden in an illegal taxi with some sweaty Germans, all of whom I tried to talk to about the football.
'Hey you're German right? I'm English, the football, excited?'
*Vacant stares* *German ramblings*
Everyone is either rude, gangster or rude.
It stinks.
I passed a live art event in Hell's kitchen which involved 'taking back the city' (not sure what this means).
I have befriended a Jehovah's witness, and a fireman.
I'm sweaty, tired and it's all very surreal.
Rip it up
Kick it
Spit out the views.
xxx
and thought the best way to keep up to date with everything and everyone would be to start a blog.
Today, I have:
Seen a crack whore and in the process was offered crack/crank.
Been honked at, sworn at, and got the bird!
Ridden in an illegal taxi with some sweaty Germans, all of whom I tried to talk to about the football.
'Hey you're German right? I'm English, the football, excited?'
*Vacant stares* *German ramblings*
Everyone is either rude, gangster or rude.
It stinks.
I passed a live art event in Hell's kitchen which involved 'taking back the city' (not sure what this means).
I have befriended a Jehovah's witness, and a fireman.
I'm sweaty, tired and it's all very surreal.
Rip it up
Kick it
Spit out the views.
xxx
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