Tuesday, June 16, 2015
when we dance together
vibrations echo like sleep
they give off a smell
make me feel rich
make me shutter
which reminds me
than I used to be
i love hard
keep on dancing
please dance with me
come on and get here
i need you
don't mean much
to me, hope you know
i yawn when i wink
THIS IS EMBARRASSING FOR ME
i'll tell you
if you want cause
i get it
and it's cool
i know you
SUR E IKN OW T HE
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Welp, right now is important, always.
I've been whisked away by hurdling winds which change direction every hour, on the hour. the feeling was thrilling, pure elation, but also this feeling was super overwhelming/very exhausting.
This month started out with a new stream of wind. It moves steadily in only one direction. That wave that was building...it's ready to break.
It's time to focus...yes, focus, I said.
So this is what I've been up to in this time of focus.
I finally fixed my brother's broken guitar with some wood glue and clamps.
Harry's been teaching me drum rudiments.
We've been recording soundscapes and beats, a bit of singing and guitar on his 4-track cassette tape recorder.
Harry needs a drum kit; you can see it in his fingertips...tapping pots and pans is just not the same. peace, my homies.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
|photoshoot with Store B Vintage and Marybeth Stanton. best times of creativity if you ask me.|
|Cracker Your Wardrobe.|
|the most ethereal, amazing, beautiful dinner I've ever had. and in the loveliest company.|
|my adopted (or kidnapped???) stray cats. Morris and Jujube. They are in love.|
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
here he is, Chief Keef...my supposed styling subject...
|image courtesy of HipHopWired.com|
|Christopher Kane, Commes des Garcons, and A.P.C. amongst other highly sought after lines at RSVP|
|Amazing rare finds at PORTAGE CHICAGO...too many to list here but just to name a few...Alpha Troop, Gucci, TISA, YSL, MCM, Balenciaga, the list goes on. |
|Men's boots by Rick Owens and Balenciaga at Bonnie&Clyde's|
As suggested by John Hancock the III, I googled the word "chief" and his name was at the top of the search results. The articles I read proved him to be more than legit. His youtube video for the song I Don't Like gained so much popularity in such a short amount of time that he went from a youtube-rapping-16-yr-old-supposed-gang-member-with-criminal-record-on-house-arrest to totally-major overnight. Chief had become so big that Sir Kanye West came out with a remix featuring Pusha T, Jadakiss, and Big Sean. And the remixes didn't just stop at Kanye.
He was eventually signed to Interscope after what seemed like one of the biggest bidding wars in hip hop since...well...I don't know. I'm just a white chick that likes clothes. That being said, I was sort of scratching my head as to why anyone would want me to be in charge of this. Needless to say, I was really excited to style him. I even enjoyed being berated by my rap loving guy friends over whether it would be an audacious styling risk to source some fake Gucci...turns out fake anything is a niche niche in the rap world...even for the sake of irony.
After creating a mental list of the best of the best Chicago retailers, I ventured out to RSVP, St. Alfred's, Bonnie&Clyde's, and last but not least, Portage Chicago. I sourced a vast assortment of amazing garments from Comme Des Garcons, Christopher Kane, RSVP, Balenciaga, Rick Owens, vintage Fendi, Gucci, Chanel, Versace, YSL, MCM...I mean seriously...you name the fashion house and I had it right in front of me. I even went so far as to research the psychological importance of designer labels within the rap community, their historical meaning, purpose, the like.
So why is this interesting? What exactly is the point to my little story you ask? Oh boy, well where do I begin...at the beginning of course.
It was a cold and rainy day...it really was...it was miserable outside. Almost immediately, a series of strange events unfolded on my little shopping assignment. I had gone to a few stores with vintage designer items in mind; you know, the rarest of rare, hard to find pieces that serve as a historical tribute to rapper style. But time was running out and I was in need of something a bit more accessible. I was on my way to meet John Hancock the III at RSVP, when he texted me explaining that his meeting was running later than expected, that he would meet me afterwards to complete a transfer of funds. Like we had agreed, I continued onto RSVP. The salesperson told me that he was aware of my visit and that I could borrow whatever I'd like. He even said that the owner was willing to overnight a few exclusive items if time permitted. Everything was going smoothly until the salesperson at RSVP relayed from the owner that although they were aware of the shoot and my arrival, I wasn't allowed to borrow the items. I thought it had something to do with the fact that RSVP is Kanye's and there had been a bit of drama going on between him and Keef earlier that month over the song rights, remixes. Either way, I had everything on hold, and had photos to prove it. It was time to cab it to my appointment with Portage in Bridgeport. Still no transfer, no money, no funds. But, I was assured that they would be in the account within the hour.
I arrived to Portage Chicago and was buzzed up to an apartment above a bakery. I was able to get over the fact that most of their inventory was kept in what seemed to be a baby's room (?) because what they had was amazing. They not only offered a sweet deal for the items, but they were even willing to have their people in LA overnight some key pieces for Mr. C. Keef. The deal was set but still no funds. I sat on the phone with John Hancock III, who was supposedly in charge of the whole thing, and was again assured that his assistant was transferring the money as we spoke. He even went so far as to tell me that the original location happened to flood overnight and that they were scouting out the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral to shoot the next day. We hung up. I started to realize that I was sort of in the middle of no man's land, driving down streets with long stretches of vacant buildings. I had two choices, I could call it quits and make the long trek back up to Logan Square or I could wait.
So I waited...and waited...and waited. Five gazillion texts, unanswered phone calls, and three hours later, I finally decided on choice number three and went to a tiny dive bar across the street and drank a few beers. Could it be that I had been duped? There were too many details that did and did not add up. I felt like I was in a psychological thriller. Please, someone show up with a camera crew and balloons and tell me that this was a total prank. Because honestly, if it wasn't, I was really really really creeped out by what exactly the motive was behind all of this run around. Not to mention that I looked really sheepish to a bunch of people with amazing garments/accessories/footwear/fine jewelry...etc. Alas, I gave up kicking the dirt like Charlie Brown all the way back to Logan Square...rain soaked hair, coat, and all.
From all of the other small details (too many, some too obvious, too ironic, too uncanny) I have gathered, there are only a few explanations behind this whole anxiety ridden mess.
1. This was some kind of weird creepy asshole's way of getting to me...get lost buster.
2. This was a real styling gig but I was set up to source garments without credit
3. Or worse, they thought I would front the money and actually pay for these things myself (ha! do you know where I work? That would be utterly impossible. I'm poor, ok...now that I've beaten that into a pulp...moving on).
4. Or even worse than that...Chief Keef and his crew are about as professional as a 16 year old Youtube rapper. Harsh, yes. But true.
Now any of these could be feasible. Did I enjoy feeling taken advantage of either way? Um, no. I would have rather licked the windows of the dive bar in Bridgeport clean (they were really gross). To feel like I had an opportunity to do something really big and outside of my knowledge, ahem, and do it well and then realize that it was an asinine/gigantic waste time feels terrible. The fact that someone else did not give a shit about the value of my time really threw me into a rhetorical tumbler. This ordeal tipped me into a place of bitterness. So shit. That's it. It sucked. I'm resilient. We move on. Etc.etc. Whatever you do, don't take away my free-spirited nature. Please and thanks.