Posts from the ‘NYC Street Photography’ Category
i have to drive two and a half hours out of the city and live in a yurt in the middle of nowhere for a couple of days with no hot water just so i can get some fresh air without having to compete with the asshole that’s always yelling on my street. #whatcitydoyoulivein
back in high school, i drove a third-generation black chevrolet camaro IROC-Z with a 5.7 litre engine. that was when gas was still a dollar and i lived at home. i didn’t get any chicks with the car and that part kind of sucked but the car was solid. when i turned that thing on, birds flew out of the trees. when i was stopped at the red light, people were afraid to look over at me. and when i floored that thing, my head snapped back like i was on star trek or something.
but i sold that car before going to college because what was i going to do, ship that car to a small town in upstate new york? so when i’d come home for the summers, i’d shell out $1500 to buy a car just for the summer and sell it before going back. i had a rust colored chevrolet cavalier that first summer. then a faded blue ford taurus the second. and i can’t remember the third or fourth cars, but i know for certain that one of them was picked up by that kidney foundation that tows your car for free.
then in law school i leased a car because that was the sensible thing to do. so i leased a smart car at the time, a nissan altima. and then when i moved to the city i thought what the fuck am i going to do with a car? so now i take the subway and the bus or I just walk everywhere even when it’s cold as all hell and when i have to go somewhere else i rent a zipcar from the local target here in brooklyn. they have all sorts of smart cars with funny names. like their ford focus is called inertia. and their ford explorer is called elvis.
a large dragon came through my fire escape last night. he told me that i will always walk alone. and then he left the same way he came in.
there’s some things that get better when you get older and there’s some things that get a lot worse. one of those things that gets progressively worse to the point of just wanting to jump off the empire state building is christmas. i am not against jesus or the church or giving or macy’s or parades or santa. it’s just that the list of shit to do during christmas gets bigger and bigger every year. it used to be that you just played around and got gifts and candy canes and watched cartoons and woke up and someone had made breakfast for you and was paying your bills and your health insurance. now, i have to get gifts not only for my family, but for the friends of my children and the cousins twice removed that i never even met on my wife’s side and my neighbors and trying to figure out how much the tip should be for my superintendent who is also the god parent of my child so that adds in another layer of gift giving and then there’s all the ornaments and lights and fragile stuff that everyone put up in the apartment that at some point i’m going to have to take all down and put into boxes and figure out how to stuff it back into my closets and then all the thousands of cookies i have to bake and it’s cold outside and the apartment is too small and too hot and too dry and that’s just a big fucking pain in the ass. christmas was clearly a holiday season created by women.
I’m not so much into crazy shit talk but sometimes I think people are watching me. Just the other day, I was walking down Ocean Avenue and for whatever reason I looked up and there was this Caribbean guy about six floors up taking pictures of me. I thought maybe it was a coincidence that it was the third time that week that I caught someone taking pictures of me with a long lens. But when I crossed over Newkirk, one of those dollar vans pulled up next to me on the sidewalk and tried to offer me a ride. The guy kept saying, “No really, it’s my pleasure, really,” but his teeth were all nasty and there were bits of meat inside and meat makes me feel really uncomfortable. So I jumped over the fence and then through the basement of the church and then I climbed up a tree and then jumped onto a roof and then slid down into the yard. I don’t know whether I had broken anything but at least I knew I wasn’t being followed. I don’t know how long that was going to last so instead of getting up I crawled through the yard, past the sidewalk, underneath the car, and down into the gutter. I thought it was going to be a lot nastier than it was, and if you haven’t tried it, I really suggest it. It’s warm and moist. That’s good things to have IMHO when you need a hideout during the winter.
president hectorish of the trench:
i have nothing against aliens, dinosaurs, robots, and zombies. i’m saying all this so you know the gravity of what i’m about to tell you. as you know, i’ve been working in the special projects unit that monitored the influx of rabbits from other planets. nothing was unusual until about an hour ago. the numbers spiked. the rabbits from planets as far off as galstakigar — four larkgomes away! — were coming in at about a thousand per minute.
one of my patrol teams found them congregating in an abandoned loft in gowanus. the scientist told us these rabbits need another two hours until they’re at full capacity to begin the invasion. if we’re going to use the boolanavator, then i’ll need you to input the passcodes.
submitted:
general yolafo of ditmas
i don’t hate the police. most of them are just trying to do their job. whatever the job actually means. but the point is that you don’t have to call the police for a lot of shit that we call the police for on a daily basis. for instance like the guy pounding his car radio outside your apartment at one in the morning on a saturday night. you call the police and then you refuse to give your name and stuff in case of retribution and you hide in the shadows of your fucking kitchen and giggle to yourself when the police and the sirens come around and they shut the guy up. or like when some guy is acting all crazy in front of the mcdonalds on nostrand. he’s just yelling and jumping around but he has no weapons and then when you call the police they roll up like fifteen deep and shoot the guy with mace and jump on top of him and everyone now has their cellphones out complaining about ‘police brutality’ and a couple “ohhhhhs!” and “awww shit man!!!!!” interdispersed every now and then followed by chuckles. i mean the whole thing is bullshit. call the police when shit really matters, like your building is on fire and there’s a guy throwing people into that fire. that’s when you call the police.
you think there’s only one fucking big bird? you have to be out of your mind to think something like that.
anxiety is like a big bear standing next to you. if the bear could talk, he would be saying, “i’m going to fucking eat you.” but anxiety involves more than just the bear. because in this scenario, you are tied to a tree. you can move your hands and your fingers. but your legs are going nowhere. and even if somehow you could separate your lower body from your upper body and you actually survive, i’m telling you now you are not going to out-crawl an athletic, salivating bear whose only mission in life is to eat you.
but anxiety is more than just you, a tree, and a bear. that little motherboard in your human condition comes up with a load of coping mechanisms to deal with certain kinds of trauma. you know, suppression, repression, those kinds of terms. but when it comes to anxiety, that little motherboard of yours really can’t do anything but turn anxiety into a car. and you start riding through life on that fucking car and you look out the window and wave at your friends and take pictures of the pretty scenery outside. and you think, problems? sure, i’ve got problems but not real problems.
it’s all fine and dandy until something happens. and that “happens” can be something like a bump in the road or a sharp turn or just one of your fucking eyes that stares in the wrong direction. and you’ll know when the “happens” happens, because you’re going to look down at the steering wheel and realize you are tied to a tree with a hungry bear standing next to you.
i don’t really understand gummy colas. i’m not really talking about the science of it or how they actually get the soda in there. science is pretty amazing now with all the stuff and flavors they can make in new jersey so i don’t doubt that. but there’s a few places in the greater brooklyn area where you can buy gummy colas by the fucking pound. it’s that aspect i don’t fully get. a typical package has about twenty three or twenty four gummy colas in it and maybe if you go to costco you can get a package of sixty seven gummy colas. i’ve seen people, as early as this morning, buy this stuff by the pound, and they’re buying at least ten or fifteen pounds. that’s close to a thousand pieces. and these people aren’t in the business of selling these colas or have kids. and these stores where they buy these gummy colas from? these are respectable ones that sell soda and cold cuts and name brand cereal. the new york city police department knows of my serious concerns but right now they’re still “investigating.” what the fuck does that mean? everyone knows what’s going on with the gummy colas. do we have to wait until another tragedy before we start acting?
e v e r y d a y aperture 