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East Village

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East Village

Article

East Village is a recurring place in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 9 times across 9 issues between December 16, 2024 and February 15, 2026. The archive places it in contexts such as “I walk to the East Village. Her apartment is cozy”; “Located at 101 Avenue A in the East Village”; “The Scratcher. It’s a bar in the East Village”. It most often appears alongside Los Angeles, Night Club 101, KGB.

Metadata

  • Category: Places
  • Mention count: 9
  • Issue count: 9
  • First seen: December 16, 2024
  • Last seen: February 15, 2026

Appears In

Source Context

Recovered passages from the original issue text. When the raw archive preserved outbound links inside the source passage, they are listed directly under the quote.

Moral Framework
December 16, 2024 · Original source
WHAT I DID Sunday, December 8 I'm the first person awake in the world today, it seems. Nineteen hours maybe more in the apartment after things went awry Saturday evening. It's morning now, and I'm clear headed in the way one only can be after sleeping through a haze so profound that the waking contrast is shocking. I walk to the gym. Warm again. I wish it wasn't. I don't mind that some things are more predictable lately. I'm not glad when my best friend calls me crying, but I do like that she's close by. I walk to the East Village. Her apartment is cozy. I lie on her floor and I hit her vape and I scroll on her phone - evaluate the situation at hand. Kant's moral philosophy states that the personal happiness or pride accompanying moral action negates the morality of the action in the first place. Hegel would disagree, on account of his belief that inaction to preserve one's own self perceived moral purity is a deeply stagnant and selfish act. I'm not sure where exactly I land on this one. This is what they're talking about in the Podcast I'm listening to. Another friend calls me crying. I don't think my faults include a tendency towards condescension or pleasure in my own ability to impart good will. I waver in faith in my own morality. Far too subject to circumstance. I'm not particularly helpful. I walk to the next crying friend's apartment. It’s three blocks away. I don’t think pleasure in proximity violates any moral codes. The apartment is ornate. Big gold frames everywhere. I eat Jewish food on the couch. Putting out fires left and right, my first crying friend texts me. It probably is my turn. I’ve probably been wavering on the edge of out of control for weeks now. The truth of self sufficiency is - you can have a beautiful life that is materially and spiritually in large part imparted to you by others, and you can still feel entitled to it sometimes. The worst emotion is sludge. The second worst emotion is rage. The best emotion is clarity. The most risky emotion is euphoria. It’s felt easier to let things turn sour lately, which concerns me. I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about how to resurrect this as a premise. Things are soured on a personal or cultural level when a slight is quick to feel like an injustice. I go to Citarella. I can figure out which cheese is pecorino romano this time. I understand the impulse to travel but I’ve been trying to avoid it. There is newness everywhere. A desire to escape claustrophobia through even more stimulation is symptomatic of a larger disease. I try to buy only ingredients: pecorino romano, sausage meat, red pepper chili flakes and oregano, apples, berries. I buy a little piece of Walker’s shortbread at the checkout, too. Monday, December 9 A busy day. One quickly finds this to be the solution to all malignant indulgences. Before a comedy show at Jean’s, Natasha and I go to Altro Paradiso for dinner. It’s an early dinner in the rain. Madelyn works here, and I’ve been meaning to visit for a while. I’ve been meaning to apply for a job here, too, but the list of things I’ve been meaning to do on that front continues to pile up. We order many things on the menu. The house specialties that we did not order somehow seem to keep materializing on our table as well. It’s like magic. It’s a special night. Rumor has it: Marina Abromovic was dining here this afternoon. Rumor has it, she’s dined here twenty times. Altro Paradiso is a well lit restaurant - I read something I liked about well lit restaurants this week and now I can’t recall where. The premise was: enough of this haze. Some people want to see their food. Some people want to see and be seen. Tonight, I drink Ciro Picariello. It’s like white wine but it sparkles. I drink a cocktail with peach purée and peach liquor. I drink a dirty martini. I eat olives, bread and ricotta, finocchio, another salad with fig and orange, mushroom pasta shaped like pillows, lemon pasta shaped like thick noodles, branzino, gelato. It’s a winter feast. I haven’t had a feast like this in my recent recollection. After, the rain has stopped but the evening is still misty. We hail a cab. We’re too late for Jean’s. Natasha is good at spotting famous people. Rebecca Black walks by. EmRata’s ex husband. Some other people, too. We go the The Nines, which is very festive, but where everyone is very rude. We go back to Jean’s. The show is over, they let us in, but there's no point in lingering now. I loved tonight, I say when I get home. A sign of mental stability is drinking alcohol and not hating every second of it. I know for some people, it's the opposite, but this is how it works for me. Tuesday, December 10 The line to get into the Richard Kern book launch is too long and it's raining. I see Annabel and Ellie outside. I see that Berlin blogger who only wears all black or all white and her TikTok DJ boyfriend. "I need to become someone who's 'list me or miss me'", a girl in line sighs. We're still waiting in the rain. She said this in a way like she was kidding, but I repeat the sentiment with no humility to David later. "We should become 'list me or miss me’,” I say. David has a tendency to bludgeon his way through lines. "We should become 'list me or i'm going to fucking kill you’,” David says. After I abandon the Richard Kern line, I go to Lucien. I run into a few people there. The expected and the unexpected. There are things I'm very excited about these days. Excitement is risky - it's unwise to tempt fate and it's destructive to celebrate accomplishments you are yet to achieve, but I am excited. Full of ideas again. Everyone at Lucien is an actor. That must be so cool, I say. I'm so full of sincerity, I think. This time of year can be so full in general that it begins to feel uneasy. This type of luxury isn't mine to claim and it's certainly not sustainable. The hedonism feels truly hedonistic today, though. It's energetic, not coated with something darker. I'm having so much fun. David wants to go to Frog Club for banana chiffon pie. "Why am I so broken up about Frog Club closing?” asks David. "You've never been to Frog Club," I say. "Yeah, that's probably why," says David. Risotto David made for me + prints from Paris Wednesday, December 11 I went to the Russian Baths on Wall Street on my first day in New York. I still go often now. It’s not really of my own volition. It’s a family tradition. It’s still pouring today. It’s been pouring all week. I used to think the Russian Baths were all liminal space and Russian mob, but now it feels less secret. The Doritos are from Israel. Russian Jews and Russian Gentiles, I hear someone explaining in line behind me. The building is huge. The pool area does feel kind of like The Backrooms. I have night terrors every night. In my dreams, I am never stuck in places like this. My aunt likes the cold plunge. She can stay in it for seven minutes, far beyond the recommended time of three. The Wim Hof method recommends rapid bursts of breath coupled with exposure to the extreme cold. I’m in the Infrared Sauna. On Christmas, I will swim outside in Walden Pond. Wim Hof (the man) lost a finger, an ear, something detached in the retina of his eye… I can’t recall the specific injury but something bad happened swimming across an icy lake. He took it too far. When I get back to New York, I will swim off Orchard Beach. There’s a group that goes every morning. My aunt tells me you have to go to Orchard Beach in the winter. It’s like Siberia in the Winter. It’s finally getting cold enough to swim. On my Wednesday at the Russian Baths, I lose my keys. I lose the big rubber slippers that they give you on arrival. I can’t last very long in the extreme heat or the extreme cold. An actor in the infrared sauna is talking about how he can only memorize lines in the cold plunge. I’m thinking about how I’m in an infinite feedback loop where everyone I meet keeps being actors. We go to dinner at the Russian Restaurant at the spa. It’s called Matryoshka like the dolls. I only learn this later David and I split potato pancakes, salad olivier which is the one with mayonnaise and egg and chicken (delicious), beef stroganoff, steamed chicken pelmeni. More stroganoff and borscht and red wine is also passed around the table. I can’t drink red wine, so I drink ginger juice and ginger vodka instead. Afterwards, too full to continue. There are other plans tonight - a film, a party, I promised I would go and I never cancel plans but sometimes I do just neglect to show up. A very bad habit. Inertia ultimately breeds pure evil! Time doesn’t pass at Spa 88. Still pouring but dark now, when we emerge from the underground. Thursday, December 12 My abridged review of Dimes Square (revival) today. I didn’t see it the first time around - I wasn’t here. I was in Boston. I was in a sorority. I arrived in this godforsaken ecosystem after it was already dead. I’m kind of being facetious. I think people try to qualify eras too concretely. Concretely: Dimes Square (the play) is indeed a period piece. In the vein of all Matthew Gasda’s plays, it is emotionally rich, lucid, kind of yearning, which catches me off guard but I think adds depth. The thing I like most about Dimes Square is this: it’s not self serious but also it is not sneering. The best satire is actually quite sincere. This is why most satire is generally and particularly in contemporary culture, bad. Dimes Square (the play) is excellent. I will be publishing a stand alone review of the play here shortly. I already wrote the review but then I realized I was far too stuck on historical accuracy and far too personally tortured. In the meantime (from my notes) -- “The main fault of the characters in the play is that they are cruel, but the main critique of this scene in real life is that it is (was?) (is?) full of people who are pathetic”
Inline links: https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!9BmQ!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F3165cdf4-eb1f-473a-a9be-321b5398e5d1_1179x1183.jpeg, Richard Kern, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!gXs4!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5a0a08cc-f0bf-4529-82bd-40b8e59712aa_4284x5363.jpeg
From 9pm — The team behind Baby’s All Right celebrates the opening of their new club – Night Club 101. Located at 101 Avenue A in the East Village inside the historic Pyramid Club structure, this new venue will officially open early 2025. Thursday’s preview club night is in partnership with Pitchfork Mag.
Inline links: Night Club 101, Pyramid Club, Pitchfork Mag
The End Of The Year
January 03, 2025 · Original source
Joan Baez - It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue Later, someone puts on After Hours (1985), and so I cease my pacing in place and I go rejoin the group. "Maybe this is just a movie about guys who are lost in like... New York and girls who are scary and incomprehensible," someone is saying. "I hate to make everything political, I'm self conscious about making everything political, but there are no movies except for this about men and the weird, weird, weird ass shit women put them through," says someone else. Later, I go back to the hallway and I practice leaping and twirling. David tells me my twirls would be very impressive if I was like… eleven years old. Later, we go to The Scratcher. It’s a bar in the East Village. "They have onion and cheese sandwiches," David says. He says this three or four times. I ask the bartender about the sandwiches when we get there. It's a suspiciously small bar. No kitchen in sight. I broach the topic gently. "My boyfriend is wondering if you... have a kitchen?" I ask. The bartender shakes his head. "Onion and cheese sandwiches?" I say. The bartender shakes his head. So don't come here for the food, is the lesson, but it's a nice vibe. I get a terrible moscow mule. I get two vodka sodas. I liked the night better before the drinks. Intentional haziness intuitively goes against everything I have recently been craving. Tonight, the first half of the evening is best. Wednesday, December 31 Rebecca asks me about my Resolutions at Clandestino. Give me three, she says. Avoid being cruel and prioritize mental and physical clarity, I say. My sister rolls her eyes, because these sentiments are kind of just My Talking Points lately. One more, says Rebbeca. Be really healthy, I say. This seems to satisfy everyone. Morning - I walk for an hour and I write on the treadmill. I do this every day. It's the only element of "routine" that I can honestly claim as consistently mine. The main thing to consider is this: I have a life now, that I fundamentally thought I was too half formed and unstable to access maybe ever, least of all soon. I cherish this more than anything. There is so much beauty now. It happened suddenly. A fundamental conflict comes in an occasional residual desire to destroy it all in ways that are very cruel. This is the fundamental conflict, I suppose. The main thing to fix. If you remember how much you cherish all you have, then the desire to destroy it fades. Things like this are often very simple. I'm walking at a quick pace and I'm writing about how much there is that I cherish. I'll be less confessional this year. New Moon yesterday. This is the last of it. The last of purging my sins in broad vague strokes, I mean. Afternoon - purging my apartment. The roof is leaking and they're saying it needs to be replaced. I love this apartment. It's far too small for two people, but I hope we can stay. I'm getting rid of all the excess in the meantime. I want to wake up to empty floors and sparkling windows. Evening - a beautiful dinner party. New Years downtown, after. Six am. Everything feels very fresh. There's always more to say, but I shouldn't. Nihilism doesn't cure paranoia, but absurdism does. I want to walk outside for hours and write by hand in little notebooks. It's time to stop musing. Days of self indulgence. Sick of it. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Happy New Year. Things are still picking back up in New York… Friday, January 3 From 6pm - 9pm at Harkwaik — Exene Karros solo show Spirit opens. These paintings look really beautiful, and the exhibition seems interesting – “the ubiquity and ambivalence of corporate iconography, the banality of violence and pleasure, the vacancy of identity articulated through narrow registers, and the thrill of transgressive appropriation linger.”
Inline links: Harkwaik, Exene Karros
Dream Logic
February 03, 2025 · Original source
I'm reading St Augustine's Confessions - mostly reading it for school, although I've been invited to discuss it on a Podcast as well. My track record with Podcasts is bleak, scary, and abysmal. My track record with Catholicism is - I never really went through that phase. I struggle to separate vanity from philosophy and prayer. I'm drawn to this part of Confessions most, things like "there is no pleasure in eating or drinking unless it is preceded by the discomfort of hunger and thirst.” Things like "Drunkards eat salty things to make their throats dry and painful, so that they may enjoy the pleasure of quenching their thirst.” Drawn to these, of course, because they elicit reflection on my own actions in the most vain and superficial sense of it all. Simone Weil Food Diary. Aliens and Anorexia. Like Grimes has been tweeting things like she found God to quit vaping. Hypnotize me instead, perhaps - it seems vulgar to attempt contemplation, and to end up here. Ruby and I walk to Flower Power in the East Village for; Wild Oat bromus ramosus (green). It does things like; “work as an expression of inner calling, manifestation of one’s true goals and values, work experiences motivated by a clear life purpose and conviction.” We go to Bar Oliver for vermouth tonic. Ruby makes me steak. David calls. Ruby and I watch Mulholland Drive - the first time for me. Only eleven pm and I usually sleep late, much later, but this red light casts a different glow. I'm closer to the ground in my friend’s apartment, no planes overhead and melting ice. I get homesick easily. In hours, really. But then, you can always go back. Monday, January 27 Perhaps you theme your days. On Health, you say. L-theanine with my coffee. Not really, but I’ll plan for this down the line. Bar Oliver is all lit up in piercing morning sun. I walk outside early this morning. Chinatown fruit market coming alive so quickly. There was a cemetery outside the window where I slept last night. I kept on looking out and seeing icy branches overhead that framed the building like a second roof, the cemetery like a courtyard. It scared me once, I screamed once in my sleep, but I woke up other times too, and it wasn't too bad then. Mostly, the sky outside just looked all pale blue and clear, the same pale blue all night in my memory, although this doesn't make sense in a logical way, what with the night passing and the becoming dark and the me being asleep for it all. Dream Logic. A recollection of slippery silvery vines forming an outline of a roof over a gravestone. You wake up, and there is no roof, the trees were never shaped like that at all. Tahini chocolate cookie because Ruby told me sugar is actually ok. Whole milk cappuccino and I'm adding honey instead of Splenda. Enough is enough. I'm not going to crash out, but days are different now that my hours don't float on and on in pacing and typing that becomes like a trance. I felt like I was floating yesterday. Not today. That's probably ok. Tuesday, January 28 Tea with Madelyn Grace and then hot apple cider and Jameson whiskey at Cafe Reggio last night. David and his friends came by and acted abrasive. I was annoyed, but then I wasn’t. I walked the Williamsburg Bridge this morning - all the way from The West Village to Brooklyn. Delancey street was crazy at that hour, but everything after that was nice. I’d never done this before - walk the bridge, I mean - and it went on for so much longer than I expected. At first it was all windy and it made me scared, how once you got on the bridge you really couldn’t get off, how in the center the only exit was to finish the walk or perhaps to blow over, and I was the only one there, people were biking by so fast but no one else was walking, so then I started to run, and so then it got all warm, the water in the Hudson looked nice and wild and churning and distant from up here. The thing is, this winter was mostly a practice in what I’m recalling like a meditation now, with even the slight perspective - now that it’s late January, that is. Everything was present, so hyper present, and all I did was walk and think and walk and walk and walk and write down what I was thinking about and sometimes I yelled a lot, and I know it’s still the depth of winter, but this time starts to feel like it is passing. I freaked out last week, I thought about what if I couldn’t keep my days like that, but my days still hold all of this, only now, they hold more too. At the gym, I write about how it is ok to just do things like - go for a walk, go to work, lie by the window with David, go to the gym, write a story, and these days can be good and even better than the other ones, the ones that snap you into fierce exteriority. After the gym, Cassidy texts me. “Are you at KGB?,” and I’m not, but I think, well, I would go. Augustine says - “Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.” Etc etc etc. I feel better when almost all my time is spent with people, and I think my mind is better like this, too. At KGB, I am dressed all in Pilates and Going-For-A-Jog type clothing. At KGB, Matthew is telling a girl about how Blade Runner the movie is based on a very antisemitic book. I've heard him tell this story before, and the gist varies each time, but there are a few lines that consistently resurface. I zone out after I hear the first line that I am sure I have heard before. When I zone back in, he's talking about religion more generally. "Really?," the girl he's with is saying. "Yes, YES," Matthew is saying “I looked up the history of the Blade Runner movie, and it said it was made around World War II," the girl is saying. “No, not at all," Matthew says “Oh,” the girl says “How did you like the rape scene?" Matthew asks “What rape scene?" the girl says “Oh that's good," Matthew says. There is new art on the wall of KGB. A rendition of Vermeer’s Girl With Pearl Earring, except in this case, the girl is a dog. “Do you like the new art?,” David asks. “Yes,” I say. “I don’t,” David says. I am picking at the wax on the candle, because everyone is talking and because I don’t have much to say. “Stop playing with fire,” the bartender tells me. “Act like you are at your mothers house.” Except - I mishear her. I think she says you aren’t at your mothers house, because she is right, I am not, but if I was; I would play with the flames as much as I liked. Wednesday, January 29 I would like to put away this phone, I think. Warmer, today. They’ve left the windows open at the coffee shop. I told you it was starting to feel like spring. I told you it would be all spring-like in the depth of winter, soon. Sunlight filtering, filtering, filtering, through the roof at home. The roof and the windows. It’s all one and the same. It’s a new moon tonight. Lunar New Year tonight. You put your head under the covers and filter out the sun. You like it because it is warm but also - the blue light of your phone can absorb your entire vision at any hour, here, in this makeshift tent. I am not of the Escape The Internet train of thought. It’s designed to addict you but then, well, having some fucking discipline. On my phone, I see people saying things like - “there is no ‘on your phone’, just another layer of constant consciousness”. And in real life I think things like - you should separate it if you can, you should know real life if you can but, to leave it all behind - impossible, because it will always be right there, and you could still do things like walk down the street and understand the street as purely physical but then, look around you, look at the other people, look at the surroundings they are absorbing and none of them are real, none of them are there, and so you can’t just stand on this street and get it, understand it, all offline. I don’t really want to get it anymore. My mornings could be real, they could be with just a little discipline and a touch of joie de vivre. They aren’t real, really, because I’m making makeshift Blue Light tents to filter out the sunlight, but then, I’m working on this. Blue, blue, blue sky today. Doomers previews, tonight. Biohacker meetup tonight. Bryan Johnson in Interview Magazine tonight. I like to do things like drink six teas with six Splenda each, and then I like to act very harsh with myself and others regarding the principles of a life well lived. Year of the snake. What do you think about that...? All this talk about discipline, and my afternoon is all drop off a few Depop packages and refresh, refresh, refresh the stats on a piece that I didn’t even write. There’s a hazy little run in the afternoon. There’s some bad news, or, news that is more irritating, really. Ruby spreads the word: "do not take my advice about eating lots of honey," she says. Ok. Ok, it's all protein now, then. David takes me to a strange party tonight. An interloper arrives, and he is chased out at sword point. It is insane how quickly the tides turn. You said the things that you didn’t mean, again. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, but then, it never is. You wrote today, earlier, about how - things were good, better, but you didn't want to get too cocky because remember what you were capable of really not too long ago, it was only a few weeks back, but it felt so distant. And then, tonight, again... Thursday, January 30 And then it's ok. Well, it's not, but it can be. You’ve been taking for granted that it will be ok, if it has to be ok. That if you care about something so, so, so deeply then it cannot possibly be destroyed, but it could, you are capable of this. It feels foreign sometimes, this force, this capacity for destruction, like it can’t belong to you, but it does, it’s no one else’s. It becomes simple, then. You can’t just say I crossed my fingers, you can’t just say I take it back. And so, no more. I'm working the door at Tense tonight, which is my favorite - both TENSE, and working doors, that is. It’s a beautiful night, and this, after everything, is a relief. Christian Lorentzen reads emails with Gary Indiana. “I now believe you can tell if the writer is part of a writing program, by looking at their teeth,” Gary told Christian. "Why does everybody love Downton Abbey?" Gary asked Christian, in another email. "Well, what's not to love? The series construction is so glibly subscribed that you know what will happen before the writers do." In another, he lamented the logistical problems surrounding his writings on Cuba - the travel ban, his lover there, etc etc etc. It's a good format for a reading - the emails thing. Correspondences brought to life. Not quite a diary, but close, more intimate, often, because one isn't writing into the void of one's own neurosis in a correspondence. Madelyn writes me an email, after. I am working on my own correspondence back, still. Mania delays the process. It's good to have a long form conversation to return to. I hope this email finds you well. This email finds me almost incapacitated, but I won't be, soon. Beckett's reading is full of empathy and wit as always. He's lamenting the narcissism of our times in his introductory speech, and his own gut impulses and the stories that follow give him the proper wherewithal to do so. I see Sean Lynch and others outside. Sean writes something nice on the evening. I see Doomers the next day - the dream logic of my thoughts following this production requiring another letter altogether WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Tuesday, February 4 From 7pm at Heaven Can't Wait — Cynosure presents the first of a two night fundraiser for Los Angeles, featuring Alex Arthur, Precious Human, Truman Flyer, and more.
Inline links: St Augustine's, Simone Weil Food Diary, Aliens and Anorexia, Flower Power, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!_dvK!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff3b06e0c-2cb1-4c11-b33e-544c9ef7c39b_1182x1308.png, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!cTIp!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe004f5e9-d687-454c-a636-8a531bd50877_1162x1422.png, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!QvaR!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4e1cff43-2649-4fd5-b2c0-12597c68d64c_1179x639.jpeg, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!SwKw!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fcb9eb097-5814-48e3-9eee-e66c559d15b5_1200x1600.jpeg, Bryan Johnson in, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!EgQz!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1cb85ea0-de00-4d10-b03e-ae375da5ddef_1179x642.jpeg, something nice on the evening, Heaven Can't Wait, Cynosure
52 Notifications From Hell
March 07, 2025 · Original source
WHAT I DID Monday, February 24 David's friend wore a shirt that said RESIST COCAINE last night, and he made us steak, spinach, cashews, wine. It was lovely, imbibing on the floor in this smokey room. And there are many grand plans, and I believe most of them will come true, and I was struggling to begin the day but now the evening floats on and on all weightless. "C. said the best thing about living with me was the blade runner type atmosphere created by all the smoke from my steak fixation," David's friend says. And there is a lot of smoke, and it is in a nice way. A cozy night and I was home not too late in truth although it felt later than it was, slipping onto the couch and falling into black sleep the second we arrived back at the apartment. The falling asleep was nice too, and more annoying was waking up at two, four, six am and then you decide it's late enough. The day begins. I was writing by hand during this wistful restless sleep last night - notes of little coherence, notes of: I am so lucky to have been raised in environments of normalcy. not regarding aesthetics even but regarding, having normal fucking morals, seeking to live a life that is good, avoiding the gamble of turning insane or, evil. The guidelines that compose a moral compass are blurrier in general these days, but I should seek more of this, the normalcy that is. I should not crave chaos in this way. I should not resent anyone who seeks tranquility, politeness, who seeks to sleep and wake early. But I like this other thing too, this sense of a fugue state, flow state, whatever. It's utterly consuming. In the real world, I am trying to articulate how detached I am sometimes. Either that, or I'm trying to make sure you don't catch on. I'm not sure if all of this is good or bad. I'm becoming smarter and more Serious and I'm very sincere in wanting to make good works and be conscious of the state of my body and soul and the state of yours too and also, and I hope I'm not becoming too annoying. Tuesday, February 25 I tried to work with video this morning, a return to my roots as a health and wellness vlogger, but it mostly made me want to kill myself. I smoked my last cigarette ever last night by the open window, by the basil plant, David didn’t get home until late and I was having fun with my old canon G7X and with my cigarette and then I tried to film a conversation this morning, and it made the whole conversation so stilted and dull, I think it ruined the conversation, really, and so now I never want to document anything visually ever again. I thought I was going to pass out at the gym, but I didn’t. I thought I was going to scream because David keeps borrowing that wonderful yellow and navy rain jacket that my dad found washed up in the beach, and I don’t want my boyfriend parading all around New York in my special jacket, even though it doesn’t fit me, even though I never wear it, I don’t care, I was feeling possessive. And then the sun comes out, and so Natasha and I spend the morning at Fanelli Cafe in the sun. Coffees until I feel even more sick but it’s not in the worst way, And then at night, there is the birthday at Kenka. Oh, David says, the BDSM Japanese place in the East Village, and it’s true, yes, that when you arrive, there are the automatic shopping mall style sliding doors and the mannequin of the woman bound and gagged and the cotton candy machine. And it's on that crazy street in the East Village with all the halloween stores. The girls next to me are talking about shooting their movie. And we'll need skeletons, they are saying, where are we going to get skeletons? I think about my fathers collections of strange bones, wondering if I can find anything to contribute, but (most) of those bones are not human, and he comes by them in strange and obscure places regardless, and then I think about suggesting the strange halloween stores down the street, but I’m eavesdropping, really, and they come to these conclusions all on their own. Party City, they are saying. We can just get the skeletons at Party City. Wednesday, February 26 I wish I was a bit more consistent in keeping the promises I make. The promises to myself mostly but there are promises to others, sometimes, too. And there is this duality of desire for nostalgia and acceleration and I find them both repugnant on the larger level but then I see them both in myself, so strongly in myself, all these distance edges of extremities so rawly on display within my own mind, which I have been trying to have integrity with, btw. And it hasn't been so bad, really. There was walking eight miles in sunshine today. The schoolyard animal cookie ice cream from Morgensterns and I order it with the lemon jam and sometimes cherries. There have been a few false starts. Which is why, I think, I've been ranting so much about the ebb and flow of it all, but there is equilibrium, too. Some proximity to this equilibrium, at least. Thursday, February 27 Matthew imagines a situation and he tells it to David wherein; David is in heaven, and I am in hell, but in this version of hell, they let me keep my phone. “and she’ll ruin heaven,” Matthew tells David, because she’ll just keep texting you, “it’s so warm down here David, they made it too warm down here!!!” The other part of this joke, Matthew explains to David, is that in this heaven, “you’ll be surrounded by beautiful, adoring, women, but there will just be this barrage of texts from Chloe, constant, never ending, about how awfully terribly warm it is down there in hell.” The cosmic joke of it all, of course, is that our varyingly unpleasant respective situations in this hypothetical story will both, unfortunately, be utterly eternal. Last night was the night for Being Freaked Out. Tonight is the night for Being Calm As Can Be. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Friday, March 7 I missed the Foreign Domestic opening this week, but I am planning to visit God alone loves all things and he loves only himself before the festivities of the evening. Works by Alex Both, Joan Dillon, Kylie Mitchell, TINMANTIS.
Inline links: Foreign Domestic, God alone loves all things and he loves only himself
Summer Break
July 15, 2025 · Original source
From 6pm at 311 East Broadway — NADA Talks presents Alan Barrows of Civilian Warfare & Andrew Woolbright as part of Summer 2025 Conversation Series. Civilian Warfare. It showed David Wojnarowicz, Greer Lankton, Luis Frangela and many others in the East Village during the 80s and the AIDS crisis. I’m very excited about this. Recommended reading prior - Ruby Sutton on Luis Frangella
Inline links: NADA Talks, Ruby Sutton on Luis Frangella
Void of Course
October 13, 2025 · Original source
Right my wrongs mostly through not repeating them and forgive those who have wronged me mostly through prayer Wednesday, October 8 In the mood for beautiful items and caution to the wind, I spent last night with memories, collages, beautiful images of beautiful things. Spent last night making drawings on the floor and watching home videos and pawning through little gold crosses for sale on vintage resale scammer sites. Little gold chains with amethysts. Blue pearls. White pearl chains. Tiny little silver hands clutched together. I wanted everything. Wanted a ceramic box stuffed chock full of precious stones. I reconsidered what I wanted. I wanted to unearth new memories. I wanted to recall everything I worried I’d forgotten. On a flash drive, I wanted to find a video from a winter. One can tell it is winter because everyone in the frame is wearing big coats and has that sort of frosty happy manic sun set early look in their eyes. I wanted to throw a dinner party. I wanted to print out every video I’d ever taken from every dinner party I’d ever thrown and keep them on polaroid papers in my bedside table. Wanted the videos to play on printed paper like a film when I touched them. Wanted to open my bedside table and take out pieces of paper that came to animation-style-life with simulacras of candles and autumn and freezing early evening air and the part where the doors close and the guests are gone and one says, that was a good dinner party. I have been to the movies, a concert, ballroom dancing, writing class. Everything is changing because of something in the Blood Moon and wind and ambitions came roaring back to life along with urgency pertaining to health and rejuvenation and someone else’s problems usurped my own. I walk to Grace’s concert in the evening. How did the blood moon treat you? Sam asks me inside the venue. Dark and small. Grace’s face was swimming all around the televisions on the wall and her voice was sweet like an angel and my new friends were reassuring me that if they saw someone scribbling symbols on post-it notes in writing class they would be intrigued and not disturbed. The Blood Moon was up and down, I tell Sam. Makes sense, Sam tells me. On account of my Pisces Moon. On account of things I don’t believe in. On account of a psychic who said something like this might happen and for now I could expect a little while longer, at least, of sparkling water in the East Village and holding court by the East River and a tip-toeing holding-steady kind of limbo-life that lasts for a few months and maybe years, though not forever. There is a train to the ocean again, tomorrow. That should shake things up. Thursday, October 9 I missed the train to the ocean by one instant, and so the yellow cab glides right past Moynihan Train Hall and then back towards Soho and a murky turtle pond, unpacked bags, more of the same. Do you feel grief because it is the first day of Fall, Amelia asks me. Is it something in the air? Was it something in the Blood Moon? Things have become all crisp and wane, you see. I feel grief because I missed my train, I tell Amelia. I am craving a sense of everything empty and clean and gray autumn ocean and a world where nothing ever changes and nothing ever stagnates all the same. This is the only sort of thing I have strong opinions about. My whims and also, what is beautiful and what is not. I was sitting by the fire at The Marlton, earlier, and the girls across the table were trying to conjure up strong opinions. Mostly trying to find moral fault lines in the structure of things that they might crack open and uno-reverse for the sake of mostly their own personal gain. It was so depressing to listen to. I stopped listening. Friday, October 10 On the first day of Perfect Autumn, Iris and I go to The Commerce Inn for dinner. We are still quite young and are going to live quite a long time, Iris says. A random stranger at The Marlton Hotel told me and Amelia not to be so hard on ourselves and I thought he was chastising our lifestyles choices and not just being invasive yet kind and so I nodded violently and said ‘I know, I know, I know,” I tell Iris. The Commerce Inn is the sort of place one can only go in evening, and in fall or mainly winter though it is known for ‘Brunch.’ Tonight feels like a very Autumnal affair. Dark and surrounded by fallen leaves. The moon is Void Of Course, the stranger at The Marlton told me. Iris and I order oysters and bone marrow and fluke. The last time I was here, I ordered potted shrimp and it was snowing and I tucked carry-on baggage under the table, filled up on wine and aioli, caught an overnight flight to Los Angeles straight through the storm. At tea today, Celia told me; I don’t care about anything if I’m not nostalgic. That’s because you value intensity above all other things and cannot comprehend any other structure to a way a life should be, I told Celia. It’s the right structure for a life to be, Celia told me. I agree, I told Celia. The threads of things have been a bit disjoined. I am beginning Ninety Day Novel, I tell Iris. It wasn’t for me, Iris tells me. What was for you? I ask Iris. Becoming possessed, Iris tells me. She tells me some other things, too. She doesn’t tell me what to do. I kind of lost my nostalgic fervor, I tell Iris. I know you love the winter, Iris tells me. So, it is just one life all at once, which I’ve been telling myself since June and I am finally starting to believe. Iris and I start to walk to The Hudson. We reroute towards Greenwich Village and it is finally getting freezing. I am finally getting sick of talking about these sorts of things. I will talk about something else, soon. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Monday, October 13 From 4pm at Roxy Cinema — The Downtown Festival continues today and all week. At 6:15pm; world premiere of The Isdal Man by Gus Dapperton, with a Q&A moderated by Lucas Hedges. A film about Scandinavia and a vlogger (?) - I hope to make it to this. From 8:15pm; Love New York (Anthony Di Mieri). From 10:45pm; City Wide Fever.
Inline links: Roxy Cinema, The Downtown Festival, The Isdal Man, Love New York, City Wide Fever
Fever Dreams
November 05, 2025 · Original source
Reading my fucked up little story in a very small very autumnal room in the East Village this early evening.
Hotel Lobby Gossip
December 09, 2025 · Original source
Many things I miss and many things I don’t Friday, December 5 All my friends think different things and want, for the most part, the same things. I try to teach Celia about adaptability, but she doesn’t like bossy people, and she doesn’t like it when I try to teach her anything at all. Anyways, it’s all been a more interior sort of thing. Alice-Bailey-The-Mystic is one crazy chica, but she does have some interesting things to say. On her enemies - “they have done me no real harm, perhaps because I could never dislike them and could always understand why they disliked me.” On thinking about yourself too much - “people’s profound interest in themselves and in their souls and all the intricacies of related experiences almost staggers me. I want to shake them and say, ‘Come outside and find your soul in other people and so discover your own.’” In the evening, I walk to the first Christmas Party of the season, through the Washington Square Park archway that is lit up silver and glowing and then to an office in midtown with pine branches and lights that are warm and shimmering and then to the East Village, where the party feels like something from 2022. Something where everyone gets too drunk and asks you about your thoughts on technology and art and you respond with something like: oh I just moved here. Except I didn’t just move here, and so the party feels kind of nostalgic, too. Only one note from the afterparty. I wrote it on my phone, and I really hope it’s true. THEY’RE SAYING I’M NOT EVIL Phew. What a relief. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Tuesday, December 9 From 7pm at EARTH — Open Secret presents An Evening of Internet Cinema with Dana Dawud, Redacted Cut, Poorspigga, Zarina Nares, Carmen Llin, Onty, and Araya.
Inline links: EARTH, Open Secret, An Evening of Internet Cinema
Yellow-all-around
February 15, 2026 · Original source
From 7pm at The Monroe — The Interzone Reading brings a night of international camaraderie to the East Village, ft Jean-Baptiste Chiara, Mike Crumplar, Padrote Drogado, Arielle Gordón, and Ellie Holbrook. Hosted by Nick Dove.
Inline links: The Monroe, The Interzone Reading

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