New Jersey
Article
New Jersey is a recurring place in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 2 times across 2 issues between September 17, 2025 and February 15, 2026. The archive places it in contexts such as “the billboards in New Jersey are amazing”; “Laura drove me to New Jersey”. It most often appears alongside KGB, Los Angeles, Night Club 101.
Metadata
- Category: Places
- Mention count: 2
- Issue count: 2
- First seen: September 17, 2025
- Last seen: February 15, 2026
Appears In
Related Pages
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- KGB (2 shared issues)
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- Los Angeles (2 shared issues)
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- Night Club 101 (2 shared issues)
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- 1301PE (1 shared issues)
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- Aamina Khan (1 shared issues)
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- Abe Shapiro (1 shared issues)
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- Adoration of the Magi (1 shared issues)
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- Aidan Lapoche (1 shared issues)
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- Alan Parker (1 shared issues)
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- Alex Arthur (1 shared issues)
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- Alexa Dark (1 shared issues)
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- Allegory of Painting (1 shared issues)
External Links
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.
WHAT I DID Saturday, September 13 8:01am Driving over the Williamsburg Bridge where the skyline of New York City (the place where the Energies have been swirling back to life but all kinds of evil ones) is now tinged kind of light blue. The gallery last night was orange and swirling with smoke which made me gag. I couldn't really hear the readings. Something about grilled chicken. Do you think we got second hand high, my friend asked me. Do you think anything artistically interesting happens anymore? We found other friends, then, which is a good thing about New York City; insofar as it always feels quite small. We meandered further downtown for a while which was nice despite everywhere feeling a bit like a crime scene and sleep deprivation due to current events in my personal life and also on a more global and national scale. 8:27am There's a cemetery that is green green green in Middle Village and the graves are all topped with angels. There are bumper stickers that say TEACH SOMEONE HOW TO PRAY THE ROSARY on a gray car and MAKE NAZI’S AFRAID AGAIN on a blue car. 8:39am Listening to La Bás by Huysmans on tape in the car. "He could not stay in one place long and kept on inventing reasons to leave the house," the recording says. 11:29am It is sunny in Delaware and the billboards in New Jersey are amazing. Staring at my kind of puffy reflection in a streaked mirror at a rest stop feeling kind of weightless to be outside Manhattan which is kind of how it always goes these days. I do the things I need to do, but I’m not sure if that makes them right. I try to be precise and honest. I have not been acting very Selfless, but there are other things to consider besides Nobility and Sacrifice. Purchase: uncrustables and celsius. Interrogate the mundane because there is only so much one can glean from The Bigger Picture. A dress from Zara is kind of Washington-DC-Chic. This, or a side-zip sale-rack dress from DVF. I pumped my veins full of microplastics and bought an ill-fitting wardrobe. I drank iodine until my thyroid exploded. I got a tick-born illness and now steak tartar triggers anaphylactic shock. It is good that nothing bad has ever happened. 1:00pm Washington DC is Butterworth’s bone marrow for lunch and then the bookstore nearby to purchase a new copy of Paradise Lost and then The National Gallery where I like the Italian Renaissance section best because all the images are very well preserved and reverent. The most special works to me are Frau Angelico’s Adoration of the Magi and David with the Head of Goliath ceremonial shield because it’s satisying to imagine someone going into battle with something so bejewled and decedant despite the cermemonial nature of the shield that renders this idea irrelevant and a painting that I note as just Big Baby which is wonderful because the angel wings depicted are transparent like the light is just starting to rise. There is Cupid With The Wheel of Time and Bachuus floor tiles. Bachuus being; God of wine revelry and fertility. I grew up in a home peppered with masks of Bacchus and, in my old apartment we adorned the walls in masks of Bachuus, too. I tell my friends how I bought one ceramic Bachuus mask in April and then other masks kept on arriving in the mail after that. It was a colorful kind of Venetian mask to start, and then the ones that came after were darker and smaller. Like something out of a horror movie, my friends say. And this is kind of true yes, except like all reverent images or omens one can seek either good or evil or one can also choose to accept that; the most simple explanation is always the true one. And things used to be so much more interesting because everyone was much more reverent, I am thinking. Except then we walk over to the French area where the art is less reverent but more like a fairy tale. Hubert Robert’s The Ponte Salario and Francois Boucher’s Allegory of Painting and Fragonard’s Blindman’s Bluff, which makes me feel full of light Jean Honoré Fragonard’s Blindman's Buff (1775-85) - Photo via The National Gallery WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Wednesday, September 17 From 7pm at EARTH — I Feel Like Seth Price in 2012 commences with BEFORE AND AFTER WRITING book launch and reading and record launch.
Friday, February 6 I am awake and I have been for one hour. All around me, everything is pale and still and one small room and one short hallway and one light left on. One of one. One of everything. Everything is just the same. Yesterday, when I woke up, it was yellow all around. I woke up in the country yesterday, and the first thing that I noticed was all that yellow all around. Pale yellow walls. Soft yellow light. Snow reflecting golden yellow rays off a white carriage house roof, but even that part was turned sort of yellow by the early morning sun. The night before yesterday, I stayed up all night. There wasn’t much to do with all those hours, but I knew that in the morning, I’d be whisked away. Good at leaving when I remember all the things I hate. Good at coming back when I decide to get a hold of myself. I’d decided to let the night in my apartment sort of drift. I watched the sky turn dark, stay like that for a while, and then I watched it turn light again. It always kind of happens this way. In the morning, I’d packed a book bag with a suede black mini skirt, black cotton long sleeve top, toothbrush, snow boots, notebook, Off-The-Farm brand caramel protein bar. I took the B-line to the 1-line and towards the Upper West Side. On the Upper West Side, there were big french windows and snowy streets and tree branches that scratch the side of buildings and in the summer coat the whole place green. Not so much this time of year. Empty whisper benches. Powdered sledding hills in Central Park. From the Upper West Side, Laura drove me to New Jersey. A simple enough drive, but we just could not stay on track. The Hudson River was frozen over. Big white ice blocks that solidified and fractured and split. We were trying to spot a bathhouse somewhere in the suburbs of New Jersey. Is this the place to swim? we kept on asking each other, any time we passed a warehouse, or a sign that said something like Pools and Baths and Plumbing. When we got to the country, it was already dark. The driveway was lined with silver lights. I like to return to places where I have not been for years but which stay exactly the same. We lit a fire and we had salad and salmon and white wine and chocolate truffles. I was so excited to be somewhere where there was so much space. I liked the light and the quiet and the fact that there was more snow here than in the city, and I was pleased by how much I remembered. After dinner, I ran a bath in a big white bathroom. Big clear windows looking out at clear dark skies. I liked how everything felt very old, and very big, and very familiar, and very clean. I did not like how I felt a bit like a bull in a China Shop. Everything I touched returned a little less perfect than how I found it. Soap and towels left slightly off kilter. Clothes left in a pile on the floor. I fell asleep in a big white four poster bed, and I made sure to crease the comforter only slightly. I forgot to say goodnight, but no one really minded. I woke up surrounded by yellow all around. Morning, and when I pulled open yellow sheer curtains I could look out at all those skinny barren trees and lots of ice and a long driveway that stretched on and on and on. Laura came into my room and said good morning, and then she told me that she would show me how to make coffee, downstairs, soon. On the landing, there were three bedrooms, and a long hallway with a window seat lined with stuffed animals and a big window that looked out over big snow. The stuffed animals on the landing were all like little lions and zebras and all kinds of pastel and nice faces, nothing creepy. The wallpaper was all mostly white, with little blue or pink or yellow flowers peppered in between but nothing too suffocating. The snow outside the window was silky and icy and pure white and frozen over. There was a sheen over the snow. I could see, even from here, that the snow had been solidified under a layer of crust. My hair was covered in static. When I brushed my hair, I could see it literally spark. This week, I was documenting everything with compulsion. I went downstairs. Laura was working on a puzzle in the living room, where all the windows were long and clear and let the whole space flood with light. I looked out at perfect snow coated verandas. I learned how to make coffee in a chemex glass. Boiled water. Always becoming a bit bewildered in places that are quiet and beautiful and clear. I wouldn’t be friends with someone with bad aesthetic taste, my old friends used to say. My new friends, of late, had developed somewhat of a taste for conspicuous consumption. Later, Laura drove me to the train station through snowy streets and snowy backroads. We pulled away from the house and down the snowy driveway and then we drove through suburbs where everything was all Blue Mercury Skincare and Sweetgreen and farmhouses reminiscent of Boston, Chicago, Connecticut, suburbs everywhere all the same. Ladies everywhere liking Blue Mercury and Pure Barre. Laura gave me white gloves to keep for good on the train platform towards New York. You are so cold, just take and keep these, she said. Are you sure, I said, but I was already slipping the gloves onto my hands. Back in New York, I sat on a bench in Penn Station while I waited for the 1-train. Knees tucked up to chest and clothed in kind of filthy LuLu Lemon leggings. Drinking Dunkin Donuts almond milk latte with sugar free vanilla and almond and one cool-minty-zyn. Watching strangers and all sorts of scents drift by. It is the coldest winter in history or at least in recent memory, but due to sensory issues and the flattering nature of a-line skirts, all I have been wearing is sheer tights and mini dresses. When I got home, everything was very rushed, which is another thing that always tends to happen. Saturday, February 8 Following Cassandra’s confirmation, we went to a bitcoin themed bar and then to a hotel lobby. We went to a cocktail bar after that, where the drinks were made of things like clarified basil and tasted bad. I have one statement, Sam told the waiter, at the bar. Then, he asked a question. Could I have another drink? This one is very not good. In the evening, we went to Bigelow’s to buy the hair bows just like the Kennedys wore, and after that, we went to a dinner in Soho and then a tech-week-party to end the night. At the tech week party all the girls were cute and unemployed. They all made videos on the Internet and all had long-distance boyfriends. We took photos on a digital camera and smoked cigarettes on the edge of the fire escape while the boys all talked about suicidal ideation. When they ran out of liquor, I took the elevator down without saying goodbye. On the street, in the snow, playing tetris with myself in the footholds that other boots had left behind in melting ice as I tried to claw my way into a cab, I ran into an Internet Curator. He appeared out of nowhere, though my vision was already blurry, so perhaps he had been there all along. I’ve never been somewhere with so many people from TikTok in real life, the man said. Usually, I post all these people online, but tonight there were all here in real life. Made three notes in diary in yellow taxi cab home: Freedom of Indifference vs Freedom for Excellence