The Hype Machine


why have I spent the last three hours putting a shopping cart list at Urban Outfitters, pushing more than $500, and reading texts from last night?why

Dintage Vress

picked up this vintage sequin dress: Adrianna Papell evening wear
I just kind of needed to buy it even though it is a size 10 and too long
do I hike up the hem?
hmmm, will put up pic of post-construction on dress

Mert and Marcus

probablymy new favorite fashion photograpers besides testino and newton
check out the editorial in W Magazine Aug 2007


SO I finally took notice of my town's very small photography museum, and found out that esteemed fashion photographer, Matt Albiani, is going to have and exhibition soon -CANT WAIT:

scat poem from 08: BeautiFool

“I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool”, curling her lips around famous words
She lights a cigarette, flashes of sick scream in our faces
Our sad eyes do nothing to her
Her eyes reflect the flames, the silly green now playing in a pool of mud
Children slap around, rubber toys squeak – she hates that sound
I can almost see the little girl
Toes crunching, digesting sand, emerald almonds staring into the sun
Gagging, grabbing on rounded edges

I close an eye, and see her
Wrapped around sticky wounds
You scream tiny love songs
The little words skipping, jumping into my arms
My legs, clinging and kissing your neck
You take to a world full of liquid inquiry
Swimming through thoughts, paddling amongst angst
Bandaged hearts make a mess
Strappy pink band-aids soaked in maroon love
Wine cuts, bruised bottles
Soaked in mystery – I rip it off

The other lash follows; she is here again
One, two, three
Shut sight
Pinched eyelashes whisk my cheeks - make me remember no pain
I think of you
I think of you
It’s an aching jump
Thumping break
Warm me with your metaphors, licked poem, skimmed page face
Then I remember her sad chapters and broken paper story
She always liked something surreal
Fiction fixed thoughts, curved hopeless loss

To her face, Oh
She tore you apart, trying to stitch together closed off imperfections
But no one ever told you how pretty you are
Soft, white skin – tumbled sheets, just dried – it’s like your warmth
Porcelain perfect
She looks at mirrors, tiny, scary friends scream back at her
Red spots, black holes, green- poisoned eyes with vomit
That’s all she sees
Looking past shining fields filled with a beautiful place, there’s only a murky waste
Almonds of the past, crumbled and dry – stuck to tongue flavor, licking sandpaper
Bad to taste

She spilled herself over silver bowls, throwing back the best pleasures
She takes off her rings, silver nooses, gold frames – a random shiny thing – material could keep some tears away
Then she clenches the pearls, she has
Bits of her that are thrown away
Pieces off her melt into a bowl of nothing
“Sorry, sorry, sorry”, I have to say it to her again,
“I didn’t notice your problem”
She just wipes her pruned lips, witch cracked and aged
Murky water stays strong in her mouth
Toothpaste tattoos stuck on her arms, lumped scars
Turning into a whiteout paste - bewitched
Her bit off fingernails make thighs bleed – grasping too tight, she enjoys the past time – bowl of tricks
“Tricks are for kids,” her pretty little laugh spits
Too tight, that was a usual embrace
The tight that was good, the tugging sweater comfort, the pressing wet, rose lips together good
Now a soggy sack, raisin smiles
Too loose, she catches her breath

Snapping her fingers around nicotine
The jagged fingernails pinch the soaked cigarette, the rain stains it
She likes to be wet outside – seems to cleanse herself from the murky waste
Cheeky bones turn a dirty rogue from the gnawing wind
It doesn’t bother her; a smirk breaks frozen thoughts

She leans her head against the wet, hard bricks – slapping hand red
Stupid curls stuck, straw in gum, chewing bubbles, chewing cigarettes
She spins the burnt paper smell around her fingers
Whistling in the wind, smoke blows into my face
I pinch my eyes – I hate the smell of her
A smoky waste, nausea naughty pixels fuzz on her face
Spoons down throat sick
She giggles about the silly utensils; she says it works for her
I look at the red maps in her pearls
I call others

Oh poor body,
She spilled her tiny messes on you; they’ve piled into a lump of wet grass
Soaking, sticking – leaving behind a smudged, broccoli spit – baby food diets
We splurge on the petty, twirl the things we hate about people in the air
This time almost seems normal, like the time we sat with the evergreen and bugs
Throwing the perfect oval, moon-shaped rocks into the still glass
Trees showing off in their reflection, following after you
We ripple their glamorous leaves, their glamorous stances
Nothing to gaze at now – just murky water, your spit tears

But she still spends the days being tired of what she does
Tea bag drooping eyes hold all of her steeped lies
Cooping them up, spitting dirty, seasoned boils back at her
She says it burns, but she wants more indulgences

Soda hands full of cigarettes, sticky with sweat and a sugary silence – coated fingerprints, diet Pepsi nails
She trails her cancer fingers along her face, touches perfect bones
Stuck on them – perfect skin, pigments of a torn girl
We called her “gorgeous”, giggling, while flipping through guilty pleasures
She tries to achieve something too perfect, now just a corrupt mess

We love her though; we touch her glossy figure, her paper face as beautiful as ever
We remember her sick story; her velvet rasp now stuck in my head, her tragic tale spills once more

“Snapshots stung my skin, the flash blaze – I slowly danced away from the crowd
They heard me wallow, heard me sob, so I gathered my tears in delicate jars and bit my lip
Sugary sentences, (coated beauty, confectioner sugar stuck words – dough face) glazed pick up lines
Thin girls tinkered together, tugging at skirts, I stepped further behind – smudging my lipstick, dirty glossed failure
We towered the room, heels through calves – ceiling punching, my toes pinched, blood glass on patent – slow pain drip, drop
She tugged my hair, twisted my curls, twisted my head
The light lit up broken faces – giving black, smoky eyes a spit, messy color
Chatter bit me, fitting room draped, silk tears – hips, “please squeeze”
They pushed my boney back into the spotlight, toothpick spine – taste of splinters
Vertebra after vertebra shifting, stacking a silent confidence – one foot in front of the other
Swallow any dignity and spit out your gum they said.
They all said my face was a beautiful mess – jagged edges, elegant eyes, pinned green almonds - cheekbones that could make millions
I bat a lash, my smile spilled
Back now, girls cling to me, their nail polish hadn’t dried yet, a smudge of blue poison painted its sticky glue on my back
I ignore it
She whispers in my ear, “are you ready?” I say “sure, I love it here”
And her hungry smile eats me away, gnaws
But she had kind, hollow eyes that were missing something – she said she knew how to have fun
It was all here – go! Hungry smiles cooed, and she pressed her skeleton hand on my shivering back, spooked
Giraffes huddled–hair spray, spit hay, making we woozy, the pointing bite of heels into the back of my legs
My tight dress was clinging, swaying in the imaginary wind
Flash fried brains
What I loved scared me, but I wanted it
Back from the city lights and burns, we all sat – nervously tampered
Her feverish eyes pinched my skin; smoke skipped around her fingertips, stomped on lungs
I offered her a glance, she looked down – her eyes shot with dote
“Do you want this?” fear asked me, “I thought of you then”

“It’ll be fun, that’s what I said to her” smacking her lips together, dusted pink sparkles, “don’t try and change me now”.

Salt grabbed my cheekbones again; ravished and toiled, we keep her glossed pages in front of us still
Antoinette fate wrapped around her, money on palms, the perfect powder in her hungry nose
Almond eyes held sad things, barren sacks– I wanted to pick up her trail of wide-legged mess

She dances around the lofty apartment, high heels yelling on the floor
Her naked body throws paint at us; we grab her grey elbows, and bloody face to the floor
Her hands are cold now, thin blue and purple felt…cut up pieces
Rainy day activity
Peel fifty band-aids to cover a split heart, spit up flesh
Prop the doll against the windowsill; we play with her haystack hair, sewn with needles of sweat
She cries, long tears in lips, chews a sour sorry – we nod, exaggerate emotion
Ignore her swollen, now blueberry eyes – dripping sweet forgiveness’s, and hallucinations
Blue finishes the sad painting on her face; I squeeze her back too hard
Will she break?
Her sharp shrill echoes through her, rattling cobwebbed bones
We scurry like spiders
Doors slam, keys spin in fingers as we chase prey up spiraling stairs

The beautiful mess follows the clouds
Steps her heel into them, pinching the cotton candy skies
Eyes now a sticky sickness, she looks forward – never back at us, never back at me
Lying with bricks, we scream a way no one should hear
Curdling the dark night
Bloodied band-aids accompany the dirty gum on the grey street

Now, it’s just a natural bloodshot, amiable almonds crunched
Vines of tangled, maroon rhubarb – stuck in pearl plates
She lies now in her cotton candy clouds
Eyes into the sun
Bloodshot, as always

NEw ThinGS

These are just several test-runs with what I want to be doing this summer - to create a new kind of art
what influences me:
magazines (modern,vintage)
stupid irony, blatant - too shy to express because so obvious
something wrong
black and white
not trendy
Sally Mann
Erin Wasson
more too come...

I am exploring taking pictures now (I will update ones from Cape Cod shortly)
will post outfits, iffffffff(?)
someting on my mind will make its way on this page

okay, let's see how thizz goes

rough start