via thetrojanp0ny

oh my pretty little lykke li, what has become of you?

i am having trouble digesting this one. it's the first single from her new album wounded rhymes, due out in March of 2011. what makes it even worse is that right on the homepage for lykkeli.com is a scanned copy of these hand-written lyrics, as if they are poetic enough to be deserving of such showcase. all of this gyrating and crotch fondling makes me weepy.

i want old lykke back. gurl, where your bell bottoms at?

yes, that's much better.

the unbearable lightness

my elusiveness carries guilt. it seems that the less i write, the more abject i feel. i suppose this is why i ache for academia; the sniveling masochist in me is just thirsting for someone to breathe down my neck and scare me to genius caliber. i have what i'd call a lazy artist curse. i realize this sounds more like a zach galifianakis impression (see; the pretentious illiterate, the timid pimp...) than an actual condition. i tend to feel withdrawn and apathetic when i am not actively partaking in some sort of creativity. but in the winter months especially, i can not find that motivation. it stirs up memory of an artist i once dated who, over the course of two months, had researched every facet of my life's interests, and then built, painstakingly hand-carved and painted a personalized wooden memory box for me. during this time he would repeatedly reference this "project" of his; how it would prove the magnitude of his feelings for me, and the seriousness with which he viewed the relationship. when he ironically ended it a couple of weeks later, just after gifting the box to me in an elaborate presentation involving scarves, fresh flowers,and too much excitement, i couldn't help but ask but why? how? what about the...? his response, plain and simple, spilling from the most stoic expression: i was just inspired- i am an artist- that is what we do.

ironically, it seems that i inadvertently attempt to fill the void of my own fruitless endeavors by immersing myself in art and film and music- drowning in the great achievements of others (albeit steeped with envy) in lieu of my own. when i was a child, i was a strange, industrious little thing. it wasn't unusual to find me alone in the basement, drawing in a closet for hours, sitting and collaging in a mess of magazine clippings, or fashioning large rube goldbergs from the ceiling with paper towel tubes, masking tape and marbles...

much the same goes for my career path (or lack thereof). i have so many interests, yet i can not for the life of me manage to find one singular thing to commit to. i suppose what most people do is to simply choose one; however, for the last five years i have been entirely unsuccessful at doing so. instead i have worked a streak of painfully unstimulating administrative positions, and like a series of unfortunate events, one has led to the next and the next andthenext. and so it goes, a small piece of my soul dies when i interview for a position and find myself stressing my strengths in customer service. even if it is true that this is where my "professional abilities" reside, in actuality i hate the customer. what's even worse is this sense of pride i have; the notion that i am entirely too intelligent and capable to be working in my position, yet at the same time feel technically unqualified to do much more. i worry that it's a blind confidence, even though my sense tells me not. regardless, it is purgatory. i am constantly questing for someone who can empathize...anyone...yet everyone seems have their heads screwed on straight and are at least geared in some conceivable direction. when i explain my woes, they all say the same: i think most people our age people feel that way. but if this is true, why then am i the only one constantly perturbed and at odds with my situations enough to vocalize it? are others just more comfortable settling? this just can't be.

to settle in any sense, for me, is disconcerting. it is so easy to fall into something, be it a relationship, a job, or simply a state of mind- and to find a sense of blind comfort and stability there. i think that this feeling of sufficiency is dangerous. i've just finished watching the film adaptation of milan kundera's novel the unbearable lightness of being, and am now unable to cease thought on this. the title alone has been on repeat in my head for the last 24 hours. unbearable lightness, unbearable lightness, in the shower, on the subway, at my work desk. the title is based on nietzsche's idea of "eternal return"; that our existence has occurred an infinite number of times and will continue to without end, suggesting that we are to live our lives with both the fundamental lightness and consequential weight of that knowledge. the implication in parts of the story is that the lightness, is in fact desirable- rationalizing "what happens but once, might as well not have happened at all. if we only have one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all." the sweet lightness is referenced when characters are at ease, alone, without worry or deep thought. in contrast, it is the significance and weight of our lives that mean the most: "the heavier the burden, the more real and truthful [our lives] become." a paradox maybe, but beautiful nevertheless.

Mia Farrow; Photo by Roddy McDowall

daylight savings

too.much.rain.

Hermanos Inglesos feat. MeMe - "Wanderland" from Michélé De Feudis on Vimeo.

keith haring paints grace jones

i am torn between feeling both strange about and excited by the fact that this season keith haring has become, dare i say, trendy?! in the early 1980s, while enrolled in art school, haring discovered the thriving alternative art scene in new york, which worked outside of the system and took to the streets and subways. he made is mark with his own brand of bold and vibrant chalk drawings, creating hundreds, at times up to 40 in one day. haring died in 1990 from AIDS complications, and has since become as iconic as his counterpart jean-michel basquiat, or his own mentor, andy warhol. so i suppose it shouldn't come as much of a surprise now, with this whole resurgence of nineties "cool", that his art is resurrecting yet again by means of fashion. i myself enjoy it for nostalgic purposes; however, i do seriously wonder if the youngsters these brands are targeting will have any idea whatsoever just who he was or what he stood for.

at karmaloop we not only sell a line of keith haring jewelry by the brand noir, but we are also carrying wall decals by blik walgraphics, and tee shirts from the brands public library & trash and luxury. 

shoe designer, nicholas kirkwood, will be coming out with a line of kicks come february of 2011. it's a 12 piece collection which came to be after the designer was inspired by viewing a documentary which portrayed the artist's prolific life. he thus approached the keith haring foundation to pitch his idea. functional? perhaps not. awesome? oh yes.

                                                                                                                           style.com

alexander mcqueen

one thing i truly miss about living in portugal (excluding the obvious) is european zara. when i was first bamboozled by the shopping opportunities in porto, i was indeed overwhelmed. it occurred when i discovered, during my wide expanses of free time to explore the city all by my lonesome and deplete my limited european currency, the shopping mecca that is rua de santa catarina.

located in the heart of the historic city, this pedestrian only road is jam-packed with businesses and is a real shopper's delight. while there may have been some serious gems to be unearthed in the realm of fancy boutiques (particularly those featuring european-made leather shoes) i could not afford such luxurious splurging. and being the bargain hunter that i am, i am proud to say that i even located what seemed to be the city's only vintage clothing shop in an entirely hidden locale. it is there where i purchased my favorite jacket; a brown leather, fox-fur collared number from the 1970s.

although there were surprisingly a variety of reasonably priced shopping options on rua de santa catarina, it did not take long for me to shake off the initial fever i had for all things foreign; upon closer observation one could easily distinguish the poor quality of shockingly cheap pieces per the ill-fitting shapes, fraying seams, starchy fabrics, and faux-leather stank. and so i learned things aren't always what they seem. i should have trusted my instincts with the incipient deterrence due in full to the over abundance of harem pants seen worn in the city. forgive me, but i have never been a big fan of the just-crapped-my-pants look. this being said, this street also offered the best zara store i had ever come across; the boston location, and even the fifth avenue spot in manhattan, are significantly lacking in comparison. boasting two spacious floors of perfectly arranged, color and size coordinated displays, this place was a dream. the upper floor itself was sufficient, comparable to but far superior than the more youthful line sold at H&M; edgy, unique, well-made, and fairly priced. the store also included a full-on shoe section, and not just mismatched pairs haphazardly strewn on the bottom shelves of displays as per the norm.

i am permitting myself to have some blatantly girlish and materialistic moments these days, and in taking a gander at the special zara casual line for fall 2010, suffice it to say that this is one of said moments. i lurve these looks. always a hippie at heart, i'll never shy away from the ways in which bohemian looks emerge resurrected and evolved and fresh. chunky over-sized knits, military pieces, florals, ethnic prints and the mixing and matching of everything; accented by thin belts and fringe and toughened up slightly by a good old lace-up boot. all this talk makes me want to watch hair. so i'm partial to homeless lady chic and unafraid to admit that each time the tabloids came down hard on mary-kate olsen for looking disheveled, broke-down and cracked-out, i was always secretly swooning.

tierney gearon; explosure

swoon

anyone who has ever stepped foot in a room of mine would immediately note my fancy for all things wooden in nature. and not just standard furniture, but quite literally i.e. tree trunk votives, a tree slice jewelry box, giant birch tree tapestry, actual branches et al. i am constantly attempting to talk myself out of purchasing more of these pieces so as to avoid the space beginning to look redundant; i've never been keen on themes.

on that note, i am trying ever so hard to not succumb to temptations to deplete my checking account for one of these numbers. anzfer farms, a company which i discovered during my countless hours of etsy scouring, was created by the talented duo of jonathan anzalone & joseph ferriso. founded in 2009, they are based out of san francisco and work primarily with reclaimed wood to create these comfortingly natural, beautifully simple objects. behold:

change

the homeless lady outside park street station has taken to wearing a united states postal service envelope on her head, which she has adorned ever so beautifully with an array of straggly pigeon feathers.

last week, in the bagel shop next door to my office, i witnessed a homeless man with an exposed elbow bone lurch in and begin shoving containers of vegetable cream cheese down the front of his sweat pants, all whilst staring blankly into the eyes of the cashiers. he was, of course, escorted out. the containers were then returned to the shelves uncleaned. at first i thought, cream cheese was an interesting choice . i imagined him sitting beneath a tree in the boston common with crazy eyes, salivating, scooping it all up, dirty fingers to mouth. then i taste tested the cream cheese myself and it all made sense; i would have done much the same.

my eleven year old niece was almost hit by a car this weekend in davis square, but i managed to pull her out of harm's way. she found it humorous to proclaim that i had saved her life. for her birthday i gifted her a feminist book entitled the daring book for girls, which she already owned. we ate fried pickles together and discussed ripley's believe it or not inspired facts. she is an old soul. at 8am this morning i too was almost hit by a car; it was far too early for such a fright. on my walk home from work i purchased a cactus. at first i selected a neat, tall, uniform looking one because it was the most aesthetically pleasing. i then walked to and from the checkout counter three times, entirely vexed by my decision, before ultimately returning to put back the handsome guy and choose the pot i had been eying from the start; two crooked, dopey looking peruvian old man cacti with a hairy, miniature poof at their feet. they come across as a dysfunctional succulent family posing for a portrait. i am curious as to whether or not my selection has symbolic significance; coincidentally, i have been recently perturbed by a date i experienced during which i was utterly intrigued by a terribly unattractive man.

my 27th birhday was on friday. this makes me sad, though i take solace in the fact that most think i'm still an undergraduate. i can no longer recall the names of my undergraduate professors. no one at work was aware it was my birthday, and it felt much like elementary school again...that strange day dream i have where i announce to one and all that they must treat me especially nice on my special day and i am showered with compliments and attention. but the reality is that i keep so mum about that i myself forget that it is different than any other ordinary day. in spite of this, dinner was delightful. to drink- a mixed one with rain vodka, st. germain, fresh grapefruit and ginger cinzano. to eat- chicken fried vermont quail with compressed watermelon, b&b pickles, and tabasco honey. also, french gnocchi. then peach melba with compressed peaches, seasonal fruit sauce, basil ice cream & honeycomb, c/o hungry mother. please go there.

we went camping in the white mountains on sunday night. i forget how nice it feels to sometimes flee the city. the air up there is like home, frigidity and all. i am constantly brought back to my autumn trips to vermont with my father as a child; how i was convinced it was the most beautiful place on earth, and how i vowed at the tender age eight that i would settle there to live amidst the hippies and foliage and maples forever and aver amen. in woodstock i purchased a vintage inspired radio for my AM (radio) AM (morningtime) listening pleasure. i also scored a set of vintage test tubes i am using as flower vases, as well an antique frying basket which i am now utilizing as desktop storage. the old woman who sold it to me wore hot pink lipstick and even in her senility found me completely bizarre.

i spent the majority of last week moving into a new apartment. being that i abandoned most of my belongings upon moving to europe at exactly this time last year, i have cut down the bulk of my accouterments and am living as minimally as i ever have (which for a true pack-rat is a great achievement). in doing so, and in the process of unpacking, i realized the small joys i keep from the things i do find myself carrying from place to place. it is no secret that i prefer objects that hold meaning; nearly everything i own comes from years of prior use, by myself or by some unknown stranger, and each has a story. looking around me i am so soothed by what i see, and in my head i am constantly telling these stories to some imaginary person in the fashion of a seasoned tour guide.

gargantuan bubbles.

harvey milk

typewriter porn

a thousand rockets, a thousand friends.

che peccato

isn't this just darling? nicole "snookie" polizzi looked less like an oompa loompa and more like a turd in this glamour shot booking photograph taken in july, after her arrest in seaside heights, nj. disorderly conduct and creating a public nuisance for her trashy CHILEAN, drunken antics were the charges. i would say i am anxiously awaiting her courtroom breakdown and subsequent jail sentence in the fashion of lindsay lohan; however, it seems that her court date in september can lead to nothing more than $500 in fines. and let's face it, those guidos and guidettes are probably wiping their tanned asses with that kind of change these days ($30,000 per episode, to be exact).

also, i have just caught on to the fact that MTV italia actually purchased the rights to first season of the jersey shore, and began airing the episodes in italy on march 22nd. i haven't been able to find any info on how it's been received there, so i'm incredibly curious. i can only imagine that if it's anything like how my mamma lena reacted, it won't be pretty. but it's only natural for italian-americans to be up in arms over this misrepresentation; i myself, with parents right off the boat from ellis island, concur. ironic that our first impressions were of how they are giving real italians a bad name, yet when evaluating these turned tables, i imagine they will now shed some light in general on just how moronic young americans have become. or perhaps not; perhaps this will be just as much of a phenomenon in the old country. non lo so.

but i will admit, there is one thing i can relate to and that is, welp, the jersey shore itself. it is here where i spent the majority of my summer vacations as a child (late 80s-mid 90s). i'm sorry all of you hardcore new englanders: yes, i did grow up in connecticut, but the vicinity of the jersey shore is undeniable, as was the fact that i have multiple relatives that reside in long island. and yes, one of these cousins IS named luigi, and yes he does have a sister named gloria and a witchy grandmother who wears all black and yes we did spend summer days watching soccer and canning tomato sauce and and swimming in polluted ocean water. but in my own defense, ocean city is a dry town, wildwood was just a barrel of amusements and frankly, at the time i was interested in nothing more than sea shells, fried clam strips and miniature golf. so there.

the owls are not what they seem

interesting little factoid: the unhinged "bob" of the david lynch/mark frost collaboration of genius, twin peaks, was not a premeditated actor cast to appear in the series. in fact, bob a.k.a. frank silva, was merely a set decorator (also having worked on dune & wild at heart) who happened to inspire lynch's sinister imagination whilst setting up a season one scene in laura palmer's bedroom. he had overheard a woman on set advising silva not to lock himself within the room in which he was working, as he had just moved a large piece of furniture to barricade the door. this lone comment ignited lynch's vision, and silva was thus asked to participate in the filming. they filmed an ominous shot of him crouching behind the foot of laura palmer's bed, unbeknownst to how they might later utilize it. in a scene filmed later that evening during which laura's shaken, tormented mother unleashes a blood curdling scream, silva's reflection was accidentally captured in a background wall mirror. as if some divine sign, the rest was history.

ooof

this sweet lil' french jeune fille makes my heart hurt.

twig fever

twigs are all the rage these days. i recall beginning to see more organic, nature-inspired accessories since as far back as four years ago, but it seems that now it has grown into a full-fledged fashion trend. i myself spent over a year salivating over a cast maple seed necklace from twigs and heather, which i have since purchased and grown very attached to (it's the nostalgia, really). granted this is a trend, it is nevertheless one that continues to evolve each season, and when made well the pieces can be ever so lovely...

species by the thousands; the mccarren ring

twigs and heather; willow tree bud necklace

sarah hood jewelry; smallest branch earrings

stratus jewelry; nature bangle bracelets

carrie bilbo; branch hairpiece

edward gorey; je t'aime