Been working on making my room more of a Sanctuary slash Office, instead of a Closet slash Place To Fall Asleep Face-Down. This apparently also means always keeping a tank of wine fermenting and the fire escape stuffed with plants (mostly habaneros, OK, yeah, so what).
That one time I got a tea at Cafe Royal as a form of paying rent for a chair inside except nothing was open save ond crowded by crumpled napkins and empty cups so I left and tried to write from a bench in McGolrick but it was too cold so I just went home and heated up some pie in a coffee mug and am now working from my bed.
Dirty Projectors dropped a new short film, screening it to a select few (assholes [including me]) in Manhattan before releasing it to the masses. Then I wrote about it for VICE.
I’m writing one of my toughest pieces to date this afternoon. The prompt is to write about the song with which you most associate the first time you fell in love.
Well. I was 16. There was a lot of music. This is among the loot (judge me up, buttercup). I’m currently constructing a nice mindfuck playlist of emotionally grating tracks that simultaneously make me feel like wearing a black choker and rolling my eyes.
Lana and I saw Sixpence None the Richer Tuesday and I lamented on my long-dormant crush on Rachael Leigh Cook for Noisey (kinda related). Yep. Still 2012.