To you I wish you many gardens.
I am a writer and a reader
and I only wish good things for you
Like gardens filled with food for life.
Books with lessons.
Smiles and kisses from those who sleep
kind and simple dreams at night.
Only a writer and a reader,
are the things I have to offer.
A misguided
Underachiever
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Friday, September 25, 2015
Goals
I would like to be up and fed by the time the sun is animating past Mount Diablo
There was once a time I saw the morning sun with no rays as a dark, blood red ball bulging, both dangling and floating in front of a soft lavender sky on the way to the emergency room with my drowsy, life saving mother. I thought I might be dying. I contemplated Buddha- that he or something eone without reproductive organs or something without a face had sent me the most beautiful morning sun I had ever seen while I spit up blood from my throat into a vase filled with ice. That maybe this is what I would be gifted right before I died. A sun you could stare into without burning your eyeballs. Fifteen was such a curious age to be.
earlier in the navy blue night of morning, I woke up in my mother's bed bleeding in hot strings out of my mouth soon to find out that my wounds from surgery had opened and a main artery exposed. I began to choke on blood clots pushing out of the exposed vein in my throat where my tonsils used to be. They pushed like old chunks of turkey meat refrigerated in its own greasy goo trying to escape a skinny red coffee straw. I think I lost close to a pint and a half or so of blood that day.
The nightmares that followed were of bathroom sinks filled with red oceans that eventually turned into tidal waves. I was drowning in them. After watching six hours of footage of the tsunami in Thailand I dreamt of tsunamis until the present time. The dreams continue on in anxious episodes and creeps the feeling always so slightly that one day the ocean will eat me, unless it all ready has and I am still dreaming.
The nightmares that followed were of bathroom sinks filled with red oceans that eventually turned into tidal waves. I was drowning in them. After watching six hours of footage of the tsunami in Thailand I dreamt of tsunamis until the present time. The dreams continue on in anxious episodes and creeps the feeling always so slightly that one day the ocean will eat me, unless it all ready has and I am still dreaming.
I would like to touch my hand to ink or lead and then again to paper in this ménage a trois of instability and humor at least once a day.
That I haven't a single straight line in my career doesn't disrupt the fact that I have starved and starved again just to have time to sleep these weird figures into a childish hour and wake up with the desire to draw them for the next seven hours. I've always hated drafting. I would rather spend thirty sleepless hours hating myself for wanting to draw the messiest angel than spend the next year avoiding her wrinkled, incomplete song trapped underneath something molding in that damned hell of a closet that is the flower shop freezer pretending that one day she will be perfect. And after all this I've never blamed anyone for saying, "Bianca, you need to get a real job."
One day, I'd like to step on the balcony ledge at the Louvre again.
The last time I did I had a crowd beneath me in the plaza pointing up, my aunt, drunk, next to me laughing wildly, and a black flowing dress on. The ushers in the museum rushed out to scold me but I wondered what was so wrong. Did they actually think I would jump? Next time I will take that picture and I still won't jump. It would be such a tacky way to go, like, "That crazy bat, did she have to do it in such a fine setting in front of such fine people in such a fine city? She hasn't even a fine art degree of any sort."
Even still- it would look good.
"You need to relax"
"You need to stop talking"
"You need to watch the ways in which you are honest"
"You need to stop reading so much"
"You need to watch your back"
"You need sleep"
"You need to wear less black"
"You need to stop dressing like you belong on a corner"
"You need to learn how to speak to people without offending them"
"You need to be to on birth control"
"You need to stop taking any pills, ever"
"You need to get a real job"
"You need to know what you need to do and everyone else knows except for you"
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
That one show at Everyday back in Feb- A delayed account of JENKS AND DAE ROCK
Both rooted on the rough edges of San Francisco, artists and musical soothsayers of the city, tape master Dae Rock and killer with the can Jenks saturated Everyday Skateshop with their colorful personas at the City Nights art show in February. Having just been laying low in the mountain tops of Northern California, I managed to shake the greenery off my clothes to be welcomed by some of Frisco's finest at the opening party.
BG: What inspires you to do a show at a place like Everyday?
Jenks: Number one- Skateboarding and Graffiti. Streetlife and all the ways those mold together. It’s all been connected for a long time. We understand each other.
BG: What inspires you visually?
Jenks: Just like, living in San Francisco and collecting things as I go. Walking around in the streets looking around.
Jenks: Yeah, I guess so. Haha. I love to paint animals, too. I love wild animals.
BG: What kind of stuff are you into these days?
Jenks: A lot of our friends' stuff. I really like the abstract work thats coming out these days. Collage work. My friends are who I really pay the most attention to like Peace, Dae Rock obviously, Piper, a lot of bay people
Dae Rock and Jenks are long time pals whose beat driven, dance inspiring lifestyles have correlated seamlessly at the Everyday exhibition adding a funky touch to the sounds and sights of San Francisco. Both artists have decorated walls, trucks, and fences with intricate murals for over a decade. “Dae and I have been drawing cartoons together since we were young kids, like ten or eleven years old.” says Jenks, a wild animal himself, to me over brews in the L’s. With Dae’s boom box always in hand the party follows the two through the streets and sways people to move their feet. As much of a night disco these two can be they still work very hard to keep up with their work and stay super productive. I've personally seen Dae complete multiple, full, detailed ass paintings in a sitting! So admirable.
The show consisted of acrylic, oil, and spray paint along with in an in-house window and shelf display. The window was decorated with many 5sh0p findings, toys, trinkets, thingys, and items from Jenks’ studio. People kept saying how much it felt like they were in both of the artists’ room meshed in one. Tape reel guts bled over the balconies that are fixed over the skate shop creating a messy curtain of visual enthrallment. Shit cracked that night- people we're spilling from the back of our shop out to the streets dancing and smilin'. People definitely crushed. Someone asked me to fight some chick I don’t even know? Naw, dude. Ur in the box for a reason!?? (FREE CR?) damn, haha, for real though I really hope you're well... Anyway... Let's see, there was break dancing, booty shakin, a scandal over tits recorded (#freethecleav?) lots of long lost stars, shit.... it felt like home again, finally... Maybe even for the first time since I had come back from Freance six months earlier.
The city paid us a pretty one with a few warnings, but what happens out our door is in the hands of the people and the streets- that shits for them to figure out. We're just trying to live out here!
Meanwhile Everyday continues to book shows for the misfits of SF. Next to be covered is Rabitt Garcia's show.
The next art show at Everyday is May 29th, 2015
Z0000NNGGGV/
JENKS has a mural up now at the knife shop that neighbors Everyday on Geary and Larkin. Shit, of course, is stupid fresh.
In the meantime-
Stay up.
$
JENKS COLLAGE
$
$
DAE'S PAINTED STEREOS
$
$
JENKS PAINTING TOP LEFT
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Live from SFPML
Almost sat on a needle just now trying to take a shot of two homeless people sleeping in front of the flag, in front of hundreds of police, many squad cards, idle paddy wagons, in front of a large group of very passionate, mainly young, people.
Passion when did you first sweep me?
We're all tired.
If ever I have felt passionately tired, this is the most it has taken over I think in the 25 years I have lived.
It's good of course. Perhaps worrying to those around me, 'B you should really get some sleep..."
Maybe I can't.
Maybe it's instilled in my bones. It's why I'd rather not pay taxes. It's why I make excuses.
These people are mine.
They have me at my best and my worst.
We all know what we're talking about.
This is San Francisco.
We're still here.
Took a break for a moment to breathe and get in touch with all the loved ones, you people, who drive me to celebrate.
Who drive me at my weakest to be on the column in city hall around hundreds of screaming people, some crying, some masked, telling the cops at the top of our lungs- Inside the mother fucker- in the middle of city hall- FUCK THE POLICE!!!
They just locked a bunch of people inside of city hall for the meeting of the board of supervisors.
Somebody broke the one of the front doors of city hall with a skateboard.
It looks beautiful.
They're still out there and now I feel lazy. Distracted.
I'm about 15 pictures in and still I feel like not much has been done. I hope they're ok out there, fighting.
I hope the crowd gets larger always.
That whoever dies today at the hands of the police unjustly is exalted.
That the meeting inside remains peaceful, at best.
And radically speaking, maybe not.
Passion when did you first sweep me?
We're all tired.
If ever I have felt passionately tired, this is the most it has taken over I think in the 25 years I have lived.
It's good of course. Perhaps worrying to those around me, 'B you should really get some sleep..."
Maybe I can't.
Maybe it's instilled in my bones. It's why I'd rather not pay taxes. It's why I make excuses.
These people are mine.
They have me at my best and my worst.
We all know what we're talking about.
This is San Francisco.
We're still here.
Took a break for a moment to breathe and get in touch with all the loved ones, you people, who drive me to celebrate.
Who drive me at my weakest to be on the column in city hall around hundreds of screaming people, some crying, some masked, telling the cops at the top of our lungs- Inside the mother fucker- in the middle of city hall- FUCK THE POLICE!!!
They just locked a bunch of people inside of city hall for the meeting of the board of supervisors.
Somebody broke the one of the front doors of city hall with a skateboard.
It looks beautiful.
They're still out there and now I feel lazy. Distracted.
I'm about 15 pictures in and still I feel like not much has been done. I hope they're ok out there, fighting.
I hope the crowd gets larger always.
That whoever dies today at the hands of the police unjustly is exalted.
That the meeting inside remains peaceful, at best.
And radically speaking, maybe not.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
On Satire
What satire does, that maybe is a little dangerous, is not tell the worth of people but the worth of the contradictions found in people- then laughs.
Long live the cartoon!
Long live the cartoon!
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Eyes can do funny things
Today I skated into a wall going downhill somewhere off Secretan because, distracted, I looked behind me swearing up and down to g that I saw a dog on the sidewalk wearing red rubber rain boots.
It isn't raining.
Neither the dog or the boots were there.
Remember the bonus levels in sonic the hedgehog?
The long half pipe tunnel he runs on and collects hella rings in?
I wish I could skate something endless like that.
Just swirling around
like a surfer might in a wave
with nobody around to yell at me something stupid like
"Ooooh, skate girl!"
"Do a kickflip!"
"Paint a fine painting!"
"Get a real job!"
"Quit drinking!"
The Paris metro smells like a mix between pepto bismol and piss. It is a warm frothy musk that makes you feel like you're swimming through it,
past sophisticated arms,
fashionable everybodys,
lonely anybodys,
and a romanian accordian player,
against the loud veil shrill sound
that sweeps across your long hair
flowing
behind the train.
Gross
but still soothing
in an
any-thing-can-happen-
city
kind of way.
My knees stay purple.
It isn't raining.
Neither the dog or the boots were there.
Remember the bonus levels in sonic the hedgehog?
The long half pipe tunnel he runs on and collects hella rings in?
I wish I could skate something endless like that.
Just swirling around
like a surfer might in a wave
with nobody around to yell at me something stupid like
"Ooooh, skate girl!"
"Do a kickflip!"
"Paint a fine painting!"
"Get a real job!"
"Quit drinking!"
The Paris metro smells like a mix between pepto bismol and piss. It is a warm frothy musk that makes you feel like you're swimming through it,
past sophisticated arms,
fashionable everybodys,
lonely anybodys,
and a romanian accordian player,
against the loud veil shrill sound
that sweeps across your long hair
flowing
behind the train.
Gross
but still soothing
in an
any-thing-can-happen-
city
kind of way.
My knees stay purple.
Today in France over cofffeee
croissants are no where to be found right now
is paris broken?
i miss the giants.
losing a roll of film is like breaking a bone that will never grow back.
damned pick pocketers.
what do they want with my 35mm anyway?
it was my aunt's camera and it was over twenty years old.
it's hard to find good weed here.
it's easy to find the best croissants on most days.
Sitting at a desk in an office in an art studio writing this i suddenly feel like a professional.
sike.
not a professional.
very informal.
i thought today was monday.
i thought yesterday was silly and many beers.
the other day i fell on my skateboard in the street and my skirt went up
and i got all red in the cheeks
but there was no one around to see.
i felt sexy anyway, though.
so yeah,
life's still coo.
is paris broken?
i miss the giants.
losing a roll of film is like breaking a bone that will never grow back.
damned pick pocketers.
what do they want with my 35mm anyway?
it was my aunt's camera and it was over twenty years old.
it's hard to find good weed here.
it's easy to find the best croissants on most days.
Sitting at a desk in an office in an art studio writing this i suddenly feel like a professional.
sike.
not a professional.
very informal.
i thought today was monday.
i thought yesterday was silly and many beers.
the other day i fell on my skateboard in the street and my skirt went up
and i got all red in the cheeks
but there was no one around to see.
i felt sexy anyway, though.
so yeah,
life's still coo.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Idle minds
After generations have passed what will be looked on in regards to the state of humanity in this early century? Or will they be swept up in the moment of their time in some incalculable world of self-centered bubbles of technology and affirmations, unable to fathom what it was to be human in some part of the universe they don't need anything to do with as the serotonin levels in their brains sky rocket from a programmed chip instilled in wrist or some other scannable limb?
Think about that for a second...
This year was met with the public reality that Facebook was conducting emotional manipulation studies on almost a million of its users. It has all ready been proven that positive reinforcement from things like social media ticks and stuff like looking at a lovers profile drastically changes your levels of serotonin.
Even now in searching for the article- I can't find it. Try typing "how does social media affect your serotonin levels" and you get nothing but facts about depression and anger.
It takes a little while but you can find it.
What does this have to do with anything? Bianca, you're being paranoid.
Correct.
I am very worried.
History has been repeating itself. We had all ready been told growing up that some shit in the world is beyond peoples' control. But reading constantly about the ever increasing state of turmoil and injustice in America and how helpless I feel is enough to get me to write about the things I'm feeling as a way of i don't know... at least trying to deal with it logically in my head in hopes that one person might at the very least think about their actions daily and not readily accept the terms on which society has laid out for us to be "acceptable".
Don't get so distracted, is all I mean, and don't give in so readily to what you're fed, including this post.
Don't get so distracted, is all I mean, and don't give in so readily to what you're fed, including this post.
The inspiration for post come in two forms of time: past and present...
The present article that I read about is the recent shooting of Brown in St. Louis in which an un-armed 18 year old was shot by an SLPD officer eight consecutive times times while raising his hands in the air. The officer is currently on PAID leave and is being investigated to determine whether he is able to RETURN TO DUTY.... The Cheif Officer Belmar has not yet confirmed witnesses' statements that he had his hands in the air. The SLPD has yet to officially reveal the name of the deceased or the officer who shot him.
R.I.P. Michael Brown
The second source for my inspiration comes from a series of interviews from Firing Line with William Buckley. A then very conservative and somewhat judgemental William Buckley goes on to talk about topics I have interests in currently in these three clips with Chuck D. about racial profiling, Allen Ginsberg on Avant Garde in which Ginsberg talks about police brutality, and a panel discussion on "hippies" and the transition from the beat generation to the hippie movement with Jack Kerouac, some idiot sociologist, and Ed Sanders.
These were filmed well over 25 years ago... that's over a whole quarter century in which these issues are very much still alive and still in question. How is it that possible? How are we STILL dealing with this kind of bull shit and in that; accepting it?
Also one more thing I just have to get off my chest...
I am indeed for hippies. I am not, however, talking about the pseudo-ketamine driven burning man internet driven colloquial fake of a hippie who thinks that because they attend some corporate sponsored festival every year with a name like "earth beam awakening" or "psychedelo-douche-my-fur-boots gathering" in a garish neon costume getting their event filmed by oh i dont know? some company like TACO BELL and MTV..
Look- the only thing I'm trying to say, and I'm only going to say it once and never talk about it ever again, is that if your idea of a spiritual awakening is going to FUCKING BURNING MAN... then you seriously... SERIOUSLY need to reconsider your reality and maybe go through a few more revolutions.. the only way I could explain it to people is like this.. if you've been to asia.. burning man is like the full moon party of the west filled with stark commercialism, corporate sponsorship and exploitation, and factual entrapment by state and federal police forces (i.e. while in the kitchen at the flowershop in 2013 I overheard someone on the phone with someone driving back from burning man talking about how these naked lady cops were coercing people in admitting to having illegal drugs and then arresting them on the spot... that's FUCKED)
and oh yeah.. try to stay off the k... for reals... mushrooms are so much safer and better for you.
Allen Ginsberg
Chuck D.
The "Hippies"
*i am, as a human subject to my own hypocrisies. I just have a lot of questions to pose, and this is how I deal with it. Writing, reading (maybe too much), playing music, drawing, painting, and sucking at skating around.
PUBLIC ENEMY
Last rhetorical question- Who cares what I think?
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
No Gods, No war, Know Gods, Know War?
Everybody else was in bed sleeping.
"If you want we can turn this off, if this isn't the kind of thing you want to listen to?"
Swimming in wine in a lake house in the south of France, I look at him in front of me in all honesty, glowing from the fire we lit for warmth and ambiance, and say,
"No I want to listen. I think it's important"
"That's good. Sometimes, I don't know, I just have to now whats going on and think about what is going on."
"It's refreshing. I don't mind listening at all. You know, back home if I mentioned something about war or brought up the word "Gaza" to most of my friends it'd be like talking about unicorns or something to them. A lot of them think it's pointless to think about like 'oh, I cant do anything about it so why should I think about it?' It makes me kind of mad sometimes. Like... OK you spent all this time getting yourself famous for your art, or how good you can party or whatever, on your instagram and all these supposedly cool media outlets, all these magazines, but you can't say anything about the real world or things that are going on at home even? and to that, you can't DO anything? Don't you have legs that walk, or a mouth with a voice in it? It's pointless to be mad at them about it, how 'uncool' they think it is to have opinions on things like this, but it is frustrating that in fact they can do things but just choose to not."
We listened to the radio on his podcast about the increasing violence shed on Palestinians in Israel, how it's hard to defend either side as they are both actively engaging in a war, and how it's impossible to believe that anyone in their right mind actually wants death for people or for this case, whole nations. We discuss both possibilities that both nations are wrong and just need to cease immediately both offenses.
But what do we, as people soaked in comfort, really know?
The next day we walked up a hay ridden road from a lily pad covered, wondrous lake we swam in. We had just seen a wild snake for the second time. I think, there in that moment, that I feel eternally lucky to have been brought up in the San Francisco Bay Area.
That I am allowed freely to have thoughts like these ones, and that my mother taught me well.
I propose, "What do you do about these things? Do you go in mass right up to the borders of these countries and demand that they stop this? That you are indeed for life and prosperity for everyone?"
"I dont know. There are some people who have said that- that people should just go to the country and demand peace. It's unrealistic but it's a good idea. Obviously a very dangerous one, but still good. "
to be continued...
"If you want we can turn this off, if this isn't the kind of thing you want to listen to?"
Swimming in wine in a lake house in the south of France, I look at him in front of me in all honesty, glowing from the fire we lit for warmth and ambiance, and say,
"No I want to listen. I think it's important"
"That's good. Sometimes, I don't know, I just have to now whats going on and think about what is going on."
"It's refreshing. I don't mind listening at all. You know, back home if I mentioned something about war or brought up the word "Gaza" to most of my friends it'd be like talking about unicorns or something to them. A lot of them think it's pointless to think about like 'oh, I cant do anything about it so why should I think about it?' It makes me kind of mad sometimes. Like... OK you spent all this time getting yourself famous for your art, or how good you can party or whatever, on your instagram and all these supposedly cool media outlets, all these magazines, but you can't say anything about the real world or things that are going on at home even? and to that, you can't DO anything? Don't you have legs that walk, or a mouth with a voice in it? It's pointless to be mad at them about it, how 'uncool' they think it is to have opinions on things like this, but it is frustrating that in fact they can do things but just choose to not."
We listened to the radio on his podcast about the increasing violence shed on Palestinians in Israel, how it's hard to defend either side as they are both actively engaging in a war, and how it's impossible to believe that anyone in their right mind actually wants death for people or for this case, whole nations. We discuss both possibilities that both nations are wrong and just need to cease immediately both offenses.
But what do we, as people soaked in comfort, really know?
The next day we walked up a hay ridden road from a lily pad covered, wondrous lake we swam in. We had just seen a wild snake for the second time. I think, there in that moment, that I feel eternally lucky to have been brought up in the San Francisco Bay Area.
That I am allowed freely to have thoughts like these ones, and that my mother taught me well.
I propose, "What do you do about these things? Do you go in mass right up to the borders of these countries and demand that they stop this? That you are indeed for life and prosperity for everyone?"
"I dont know. There are some people who have said that- that people should just go to the country and demand peace. It's unrealistic but it's a good idea. Obviously a very dangerous one, but still good. "
to be continued...
On Violence 2 - CCSF's Unexpected Encounter with SFPD officers
Violence.
City College of San Francisco students were given permission to meet with one of CCSF's special trustees, Robert Argrella, to discuss his recent proposal for a payment plan that would make it impossible for undocumented students to continue studying and to demand that he resign. The meeting was to be held at Conlon Hall, a facility that is open to the public for admissions and for other student services. With permission, the protesters met and proceeding to the building where they were met, by surprise, by city college police and then shortly after the SFPD arrived to aid in barricading the building
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Shortly after, violence errupted. It seems as though no one has heard and everyone just forgot.
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