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Linking the Revolution

October 7, 2011

To be honest, most main stream coverage of #OccupyWallStreet is pretty offensive. If you were to believe a lot of the coverage, most of the people marching and participating are crazy white folk with bad hygiene and two much time on their hands (okay, I am sort of all except the last). But there’s a lot more to the story. When I marched I was standing next to a group chanting in Spanish, which moved my white Puerto Rican heart like no other. I wore a Calvin Klein and ran into quite a few men dressed for business, why weren’t we in the New York Times’ Protest Fashion Slideshow?

I am sure I missed some great resources, if you have any please feel free to leave a link in the comments. Remember to stay informed, there’s a lot more happening than what the news would tell you.

I’d also like to urge everyone, no matter how they feel about the protest, to take an active role in how they get information. Analysis is the most important tool you have when it comes to being well informed.

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This is What Democracy Looks Like/This is What a Police State Looks Like

October 5, 2011

I marched today, 4 hours from The New School to Zuccotti Park, and then Wall Street.

Foley Square was filled with optimism and dancing, far different from the confusion, violence, and mace I encountered at Wall Street.




fur mace guard

I took a video of the first round of arrests at Wall street. My phone died while I was filming, here is what I managed to get:

An Attempt at Organization

September 30, 2011

I’m only 20 but, like, I’ve seen a lot hermano. I mean, just the other day I was down near Wall Street and this cop was totally rude to me! Here are things that I have learned in my very experienced life:

  1. OKCupid is Neopets. OKCupid is filled with the same people who played Neopets in the 4th/5th grades. Except instead of meeting fairies and going on missions OKCupid is about boinking fairies and adventures on the G train looking for hallucinogens.
  2. Hipster guys will always go down on you. If you are a young lady in Williamsburg/Bushwick I advise that you don’t wear shorts, a skirt, or anything that allows easy access because you’ll be alone watching Bronson and suddenly there will be a knit cap between your legs.
  3. You should always drink seasonal beers.

    Always pose with seasonal beers on photobooth

  4. I am writing this blog post at 1:30 AM. I am currently wearing one shoe.
  5. Never start playing a Zynga game because you can’t fall asleep because they might have already taken $2 from me. WE ARE THE 99%
  6. I know that you think those thigh high boots are really cool but you look ridiculous walking next to the cabbage shipment that comes each morning to the warehouse next door to you. I mean seriously, you are living in a warehouse in Bushwick and think that it’s acceptable to spend over $100 on boots?
  7. You should definitely buy that fur coat though.
  8. Not once, but twice I have been told that despite my possible clinical insanity a boy has wanted to make out with me “a little bit” (twice! you young men are all the same). Let us end this cult of the strange and the quirky. xoxo, MR. F
  9. I don’t know how to write.

An Explanation (I am Filled With Explanations, My Father Complains)

July 2, 2011

I have not written in a month. Not since my grandmother’s death. Not in my journal, not even a poem.

In a message to a friend I wrote “what can one do  but pick themselves out of bed and go to the coffee shop.”

I know not how to deal with these emotions, least of all how to write about them. In an attempt to keep the pen flowing (and the threads of sanity from unraveling, this feels overwritten, is this overwriten?) I forced myself to sit down with my journal, “I am sad. That is all.”

So I am sitting here in my bed, eating slices of prosciutto. I own three different shades of red lipstick. In the last month I have read To Have and Have Not, Naked Lunch, and most of A Literate Passion. I tell myself that there is importance in the number three, but I cannot think of a third set.

An old friend, one who I have barely spoken to in years in moving to New York. A friend I made when I first moved here is moving back. Sometimes I think that I am wasting my life here in Brooklyn.

Gordon just called me. Post-modern meta-fiction is all we need to cure the world’s ailments, am I right?

I want to move to Spain when I graduate. That may be in two years, it may be in 500. I will move to Spain and weekend in Paris and write lovely letters to my friends in Switzerland and Italy.

Gordon: But, she’s going to be okay.

Leith: I mean we all are.

We Think You Have a Future in Porn

May 25, 2011

We know you are a pretty girl. But we also know that when you catch a glance in that mirror, any mirror, you ask, “Who the fuck is that bitch?”

Her make up’s running, her nose is not right, and why is one eye wider than the other.

But when we look closer, so much closer, we see the beautiful shining face of us. Yes! That is me, that is the pretty girl that lives inside my head, there is my soul crying out from the other side of the glass, Mr. Kundera.

We are not vain, you are not vain. You, we just want the world to see the sultry, beautiful sex Goddess that lurks behind every awkward laugh and misplaced step. Maybe you dated a photographer who told you that you were not photogenic (don’t worry, I’m not either baby), maybe in middle school you were teased for having too big teeth, or maybe no one ever loved you enough.

So there you are on photobooth, girl! There I am too. There we all are, posing with our cleavage out in full force, our makeup done for the demanding internet audience who loves us so. It is not just the attention that you want, baby girl, it is the knowledge that one brief moment of beautiful, controlled, and feigned vulnerability has been captured for all to see.


May 16, 2011

Penises! They’re everywhere! Once I saw a man who looked like Santa Claus sitting in a car on Broadway playing with his. It was a few weeks before Christmas, it’s nice to know that the holiday season permeates all aspects of life. On Saturday night I saw one at around 8 PM. I walked down the steps to get to the L train and there this short young man was, either finishing peeing or beginning a rather public self-love session.

Shut up Summer

I have an acquaintance who recently lost a lot of weight. When he was heavier, around the time that I first met him, he enjoyed getting naked in public and wiggling his penis around. Now that he does not look totally offensive naked, he saves all unsolicited penis-viewing for the drunk girls people he has sex with.

Click through for image source

Once I was not able to make it to a barbeque with some friends of mine. In retaliation (or just because it was funny) I was sent a picture of my friend’s boyfriend’s penis in a hot dog bun, covered with ketchup. Before I ever met this guy I had seen a video of him getting a cock piercing.

In response to the hot dog picture I sent a picture of my roommate’s boyfriend’s penis. I told the boys I got a stranger sitting near me in the bar to take a picture of his penis. Despite the bed sheets in the background they believed my story. The recipients of the photo warned me that I was a cute girl and the guy was trying to make himself look more impressive than he really was. I fielded many phone calls that night telling me not to go home with the made-up stranger in the bar.

click through for image source

A few months after we broke up my ex-boyfriend sent me a picture of his penis. This is only noteworthy because I said “lol send me your p3nis,” this is a stock penis pic that he sends to all girls, and his toilet takes up most of the picture. Immediately after receiving the MMS I forwarded it to my girl friends. When I am mad at Gordon Jackson I show him the picture, which is saved on my computer in the same folder as all the boob pictures that girls sent my ex when we were dating.

Do u want 2 c my coq? 

You should like Gallery Pieces on Facebook.

Anatomy of a Small Town

May 5, 2011

As most of you know, I grew up in Annapolis, Maryland. I’ve been told that it’s idyllic, mostly by people who find a town with 2 coffee shops and 2 colleges quaint and think that having a store called America! on Main Street is adorable. Mostly, Annapolis is fucked. It’s the kind of place that can only really be described as Gilmore Girls if David Lynch directed it (i.e. Twin Peaks with more gay men).

I assumed that every small town was filled with “eccentricities” and strange 50 year old drifters who buy 18 year old girls wine. Then I moved to New York. New York is tame, my friends, when you compare it to Annapolis. My craziest night out in New York has nothing on the Saturday afternoon I spent in downtown Annapolis last weekend. Well, I think I started to realize that something was not normal in the lovely DTA (downtown Annapolis) when I started calling it The Hellmouth and quoting Buffy the Vampire Slayer on a near-regular basis.

There is something not quite right with a town where it is perfectly acceptable for a young girl to attend someone’s 48 birthday party in a house filled with college students, and then to realize after the night was over that she herself was conceived in that basement. Or that at 17 and, never having seeing any, I knew where to get heroin.

It’s the sort of town that feigns cosmopolitan status because of its proximity to Baltimore and Washington DC (and, you know, the fact that it’s the state capitol) but all that this really means is that Annapolis gets good drugs.

If you grew up in Annapolis you probably spent most of you time drifting between City Dock Cafe, 49 West, and Moes while looking for a place to drink. If someone’s parents were out of town, or if you hear about a college party, you were lucky. Often you met up with some boys and spent the rest of the evening smoking cigars in a playground. Struggle of the Burbs.

The two colleges in the town, St. John’s and the Naval Academy, lend it a strange air. during the winters all of the coffee shops are filled with college students and high schoolers while the bars are frequented by young men in uniforms. In the summers the tourists flood the streets and ice cream shops, the townies return home from college, and odd St. John’s drop out can be found working at CVS.

My mother can read Greek and pop out babiesMy parents stayed in Annapolis after college. They both graduated from St. John’s and out I popped sent to wreak havoc and anchor them in the New England of the south. In High school I enjoyed going to St. John’s parties and shouting “I AM YOUR FUTURE” with the other hapless children of Johnnies. At one party I met Zeb, he asked me what life as a townie was like and told me that he planned on dropping out of college to create a “traveling gay nightclub.” If you don’t leave Annapolis after graduating college, you will never leave.

The Naval Academy is boring. Plebes are only interesting when they are getting blow jobs in alleys from girls who go to the Catholic school or are sneaking older gay men onto the academy grounds. It’s rare that you find out that a group of Naval Academy dudes dropped out to live on East St, do dope, and sleep with girls from the local public school (this is a thing that happens quite frequently to the rest of Annapolis though).

One of my first weekend’s home from college, I live in the big city y’all, I was driving down route 50 with a friend mine who was struggling to get out of Annapolis (he has since made it all the way to Baltimore) when I brought up Bruce Springsteen. After screaming the praises of The Boss we decided that all we wanted to do was to write about Annapolis the way he writes about Asbury Park. But, in all honesty, there’s too much madras and Lily Pullitzer for anyone to reach Springsteen status here.

At the annual Navy v. St. John's croquet team

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