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Yellow-all-around

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Yellow-all-around

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. Yesterday, when I woke up, it was yellow all around.

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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 - Feeling kind of like Don Draper between Season 3 and 4 of Mad Men when Jon Hamm was fresh out of rehab. - Feeling like I am kind of on a leash Sunday, February 8 Now, I am in my room and I am feeling ok. I am lying under my big white comforter in a green cashmere sweater, black Amazon tights, tennis skirt, nothing is messy anymore. After today’s reading group, where the discussion was about Virtue and Vice, Cassandra and Olivia and some others and I walked over to Washington Square Diner. I used to frequent Washington Square Diner at night, but in the day everything was brighter and I liked it better this way. I ordered black coffee and lemon tea and was happy with this choice, as no one seemed particularly pleased with the sandwiches that they kept on trotting out. Dry chicken, huge bread. I’m a snob, I’m a snob , Olivia kept saying. Sorry , she was saying. Sorry but I just feel really fucking bored. I added splenda to my water kind of indignantly, and stirred it around feeling strange. Olivia was talking about how it’s fine to eat anything if you’re on a desert island. It’s fine to eat bacon if the desert island is the prison-of-your mind and it’s the-only-food-you-like. Cassandra was talking about how none of her friends were getting married anytime soon, and so perhaps she’d have to conjure up a wedding of her own. Yeah, sorry , I was saying. Why sorry ? Cassandra asked. There was way too much food on the table, and I think that this was the part that was throwing off everybody’s vibe. There was a new Cool Sips soda shop where Pepsi is mixed with heavy cream in town, and so after lunch, there was talk of maybe we go. Maybe we go drink heavy cream and diet Pepsi. Maybe we go weightlifting. Maybe we buy cottage cheese which is calories-per-pound-per-protein-per - I never really understood these things - better than chicken. Maybe we all go home. Whilst talking about protein in ground beef and also cottage cheese and also high cholesterol versus heavy metals, Olivia reminded us that the number one health factor is joy. At home, I am sitting on the edge of my bed in a black skirt and Lafayette striped cream sweater and brown snow and salt stained Prada boots. Thinking about self fulfilling prophecies. I will not drink and I will not look particularly pretty and I will not be socially offputting and strange. I don’t need to share every word of my google doc diaries. Twenty-five-thousand words written this week in google doc diaries because I just can’t cut myself off. Real-life-diaries. Real-life-compulsions. Fake-life-blog, maybe. In the afternoon, I walk over to a kind of industrial style Japanese coffee shop to meet Lily for tea. I am wearing a thin spring coat, no gloves, and the wind chill is negative-fifteen. My face is sort of swollen as a product of bad habits, but I am hoping to blame expedited deterioration on wind burn. I run into my priest walking quickly, somewhere around West 4th. Are you crying, my priest shouts in my direction. Just cold , I say in response. I walk for twelve more minutes, and when I reach the Japanese Coffee shop, my hands are burning and there are tears streaming down my face. A product of the cold, no-emotion , I tell Lily. The coffee shop is lined with narrow benches, and Lily lets me occupy the one-free-seat because it is clear that I am feeling fragile. She hovers above me holding silver trays, pistachio milk, black coffee, chocolate chip cookies. I feel like maybe I shouldn’t move to Los Angeles , she sighs, when I finish telling her my week of whirling hotel stories. I feel like in Los Angeles, everyone pretends that they don’t care about nice things . I drink my coffee in a few big sips, and I am feeling better at talking than listening. Did you write anything down about the people my party last week , Lily asks me. I nod, and pull up my notes. Most of my friends call girls ‘girls’ I say, The people at the party called ‘girls’ ‘women. ‘ Lily smiles. It’s a posture just the same . At night, at the Superbowl party, in an apartment where the walls were recently washed a sort of deep-cloud blue, and the drinks are made with vodka and coconut water and grapefruit juice and on the side, some champagne, I arrive late. I’ve been making the drinks kind of strong, which I know you like , Savannah says. The advertisements this year are all made by Artificial Intelligence. The only advertisement not visibly made by Artificial Intelligence in an anti-hate ad wherein an antisemitic attack is covered up by a blue square, and two students walk off screen in redeemed solidarity. When this advertisement begins to play, Matt suggests that we all shut up. Everyone watch the ad , he says. The advertisement finishes, and then all the boys’ phones begin to buzz. Did you just see the ad , all the boys’ friends are asking the boys. They are all really into things like hot-ticket-cultural-discourse. What did you do last night ? Matt asks me, later after everyone is already all a little drunk, and I am curled up on the couch, eating pistachios, staring at the screen. I hung out with my new friend s, I tell Matt. I am feeling triumphant, and a little bit sad. Who are your new friends ? Matt asks. Very nice and very promising people , I tell Matt. Don’t tell anyone that I’m making new friends , I tell Matt. I won’t , Matt responds. I won’t, because it doesn’t sound like you are. Later, trying to leave, and everyone is stuck. I think your taxi is blocking mine , Matt texts. I think a cop car is blocking me. Everyone is trying to honk louder than the car before. I was playing tetris in the snow and now we’re playing tetris at the wheel. Tetris on Houston street. My taxi makes a fake-out breakaway left and I speed away. Writing everything down in my apartment, back home. My moods are very predictable. I write about systems. I’m telling my computer that it’s never really about me. Watch how the patterns repeat. Could a human girl be so good at cycles? I’m telling my computer that I’m the best human girl at cycles. I’m the best at downward spirals. I’m the best at it’s happening over and over and over again. I’m not an evil genius. Writing like I’m top-of-class (fifth grade). Writing like I’m queen of staying up late. Window is closed tonight because outside it is just too cold. Drinking Perrier not Evian because I have ambitions of aesthetic cohesion. Dream logic. Magic logic. I am too tired to miss anything, and I am too caught up in self-surveillance to be really running on anything other than vibes. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Sunday, February 15 - From 8pm at Night Club 101 — Punisher returns with a post Valentine’s Day debrief. Readings by Megsuperstarprincess, Riley Mac, Nicole Sellew, Francesca D’Alessandro, Dove Ginsburg, and Ava Doorley. Party to follow with ​​ The Heaven Forever . Mélange á seven. | RSVP here . - From 8pm at Pubkey — It’s the New York premier of KIRAC Episode 29: Whore Dialects . - “After the death of God emptied the monasteries, and hollowed out Hollywood, where can whores go to find meaning? That is the question this episode confronts. Whores have found new ways to explore truth.” | RSVP here - From 8pm at Cinema Village — Another New York screening of Me and My Victim ; co-directed by Billy Pedlow and Maurane. | Tickets here - From 8pm - late at Home Sweet Home — Silknode presents NY Fashion Week with Brat Star, ESP, bbpue, LADYBUG, Vendetta, and special guests. | RSVP here (waitlist) - LOS ANGELES - From 6pm - late at Variety Arts Theater — Hard to Read presents a night of artist-led readings, performances, and activities hosted by author Fiona Duncan . Ft Bunny Rogers, Lexee Smith, Harmony Holiday, Maya Martinez, and more. “Interspersed throughout the vast multi-storied labyrinth of Variety Arts Theater, this event infuses the legacies of California performance art, punk music, activism, and socially-engaged literature.” | Monday, February 16 - 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. - From 7pm at Night Club 101 (upstairs) — Monthly Offline hosts a phone-free Gallery Exhibition. An evening for luddites celebrating the inaugural NYC cohort who just completed thirty days with a dumbphone. Leave phone at home, or place it in a pouch upon arrival. | RSVP here - From 7pm - late at Night Club 101 (club)— Tactile Input presents Anschauuung Volume 1 - a night of DJ sets and sound artists revolving around “sense-perception.” Really good lineup; Televangelist, Inbio, Oslo, Power Object, Bunz, and Tactile Input. Magic! - From 7pm - late at Dixon Place & 9pm - late at Ripple Room — D8time x Funny Valentine bring you a night to fall in love. First; a performance of Isabel Monk Cade’s new play Funny Valentine . Next, a party . Make a new friend, lover, or enemy. Tuesday, February 17 - From 7pm at Night Club 101 — Bowery Review hosts Issue Three Release Party. - “New York’s best and only humor magazine is back with another issue packed with jokes, short stories, cartoons, and plenty more.” Ft former Playboy writer Tim Lattner, New Yorker contributor Eli Coyote Mandel , comedian and writer Abe Shapiro . - From 7pm at KGB — Late To The Party Press hosts a reading, featuring Ariel Courage, Evan Lazarus, Taeler Kallmerten, Tom Ianelli, and Katy Allen. - From 7pm at Elsewhere — Antics Mag hosts a fundraiser show, ft babehoven , katzpascale , trumanflyer , and talulahpaisley performing. Come support a quarterly, worker-run print music magazine based in New York City. | Tickets here Wednesday, February 18 - From 6pm - 8pm at Half Gallery — Demetrius Wilson: Light in a Dark Mirror opens - a show of new abstract paintings exploring the liminal space of light. - From 8pm - 11pm at The Center for Theatre Research — Matthew Gasda’s Doomers returns. “In humanity’s last act… who plays God?” - From 8pm (after party at 10pm ) at Night Club 101 — Aidan Lapoche presents a one-night-return of DENNIS (the play). DJ sets to follow with ilyclemmie, la posh, dj thank you, and mxkmercy. Thursday, February 19 - There’s a Diane Keaton showcase at Walter Reade Theater, and it ends today! 1pm - Interiors (Woody Allen, 1978); 3:30pm - Shoot The Moon (Allen Parker, 1982); 6:15pm - Marvin’s Room (Jerry Zaks, 1996); 8:30pm - Something’s Gotta Give (Nancy Meyers; 2003). You can also see Reds , Annie Hall , Crimes of the Heart , Love and Death and more earlier in the week <3 - From 6pm - 8pm at Karma — Dike Blair opens a solo exhibition – “In Dike Blair’s observations of windowsills, elevators, airport lounges, construction scenes, and other precisely circumscribed settings, time is suspended” - From 7:30pm - 10pm at ArtX — The Center for Theatre Research presents another performance of Pretend - a play by Tom Simmons. - “sometimes the only place you can tell the truth is inside a game.”

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