MoMA

Living in New York has taught me a lot about navigating through the world no matter what medium I'm travelling through. Whether that medium be love, streets, towns, trains, buses, work, or even simple works of art- I am learning more and more about how to find my way.

Here, in this little diary that connects my insignificant and common thoughts to the world, I feel as though I should relate more of my experiences in the city to the web. I will neither live forever nor be young forever. I should feel wiser if I record my thoughts, feelings, and experience here to reflect on later.

My First Visit to MoMA
February 25th, 2012

Precisely two months after my First Christmas in New York. I enjoyed the pleasant gift Rockafeller's Mother gave New York- The Museum of Modern Art. The exhibit I visited today before it was allowed to be shown to the public was the Cindy Sherman tribute. It was an array of characters all portrayed by the same common looking woman. Some of my favorite pieces were silly portraits of herself in renditions of famous works of art others were spread out in a misty range from recent to modern. My favorite work was of two torso+genitalia tied together by a single ribbon (the male part wore a cock ring and the female part wore a tampon). More than anything I enjoyed the fact that Sherman's common features gave her the magnificent ability to be the women and men that we all know and see. The women on the bus, the regulars at our favorite diner, these people who may or may not play a role in our lives, these people we don't always have a name attached to- she was everyone's face. Sherman completely submit herself to the art of impersonation.

Before Will and I were rushed out of MoMA by security officials I saw paintings by Monet and Khalo. One of the highlights of my day was helping Will see the beauty in Monet's water lilly pond.

The last thing I did before leaving the galleries for the long voyage on the escalader was watch a short film.

New York

Here I am- almost a year later. The villain of my own story. Self-centered, greedy, manipulative bitch that I am. I live with a man that I don't know if I'm in love with. The classic tale of great sex and fire in the bedroom, but constant discord outside of the bedroom. He is besotted and beside himself; in fact, tonight, he's taking me out to a romantic evening of Phantom of the Opera and the restaurant we first met at. He gives me everything and more and yet ever since the fight where he strangled me and pushed me, I could never find the love I had for him. I know I care for him, I know I have strong feelings, I know the sex is amazing and yet those emotions don't fit together in my heart and call themselves love.

I find new displeasing things about him each day. I've been patient enough to wait for these parts of his personality and tics about him to turn into sentimentally valuable parts of him I'll never forget, but my heart turns away from attempting to do it. I don't like who I am when I'm with him. The evil girlfriend of a fresh  heart that has only just learned to love another. Another dark detail of this fairytale- he's never been in love and he's 40 years old. So much to disagree about: the way I easily offend him, the way my words turn into chunks of coal, the way touching is something I have to think about, the way I am forced to ignore the way I feel and deal with it. I am mean and evil. I thought before, all these years, that I couldn't like myself any less and here I am each day before I go to work thinking about how much I hate myself.

His sad blue eyes beg me to stay and I do because I feel like I have no where else to go. I feel like no place else is more desirable than here, but I hardly want to be here either. Even still, the one person I wish would help me figure out another option besides a shelter coaxes me to love him. Goads him to pamper me. Attempts to bind us with domestic adhesive known to all as "good food". I don't have anyone to turn to. I don't have anywhere to go. I'm trapped here by my own hand and I've become jaded, evil, sour, rotten, and grinched because of it.