aym-nowen

[aym-nowen]

Pleasure and Uneasiness About Being in New Orleans

Not sure if that's grammatically correct.

I am a little uneasy living in a city that is probably the gun murder capital of the world. (As it is apparently the murder capital of America).

I really enjoy the quiet here in New Orleans, but I'm constantly wondering if I'm going to get shot, because I see it so much in the news. The quiet was surprising to me, as everyone said this city is loud. It reminds me of France in this way, with the riverfront park full of families partying and playing music on a humid, sunny Saturday.

I haven’t been to a city in America yet where I've liked the parks. I checked out the parks of New York City — BLESSED BE BUSHWICK, look up Maria Hernandez Park and you’ll see why — Philadelphia — the Wissahickon seems beautiful and I only explored the TIP of it in the winter when all the trees were sleeping — Hawai’i’s Big Island — you don’t picnic easily on lava rock/spiky grass and with mosquitos that eat you alive, to which I believe I am allergic — and Los Angeles — spectacular super bloom this year but don’t let the aesthetics of the Instagram posts fool you. It is fucking loud over there. So many cars. So much agitated, on-the-go energy. BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ.

I love the pace of New Orleans, which seems too good to be true. Slow driving, small roads. An open-air street trolley, warm wind caressing my face. Colorful buildings, majestic old trees covered in vines. Trees everywhere. A beautiful French quarter, once you get to the quieter streets and can actually observe calmly. I can hear cicadas in the park, and an occasional crow cackling into the humid hot air, which feels like being constantly wrapped in a blanket, or being back in the womb.

I do wonder about the safety of the buildings here. I am currently Couchsurfing and the apartment’s floor slopes downward until you get to my room, which has three beautiful large windows. Cars barely pass by on the street. It’s pretty quiet, though I can hear a rush of cars in the distance. My hearing and body in general are very sensitive, so I’m trying to find a nice place to live where I don’t feel stressed out. I feel the building wobble sometimes when I or my host walks around. In my last post I talked about how the institutional HARD ROCK HOTEL crumbled and killed people. I wonder if I am living in a city that doesn’t protect its people. Europe felt so safe to me, so safe. We had a social system, and Daddy Government did a better job at honoring the social contract (between taxpayers and tax collectors and managers — aka the government).

I keep reading about people, mothers, getting murdered here, and I’m wondering what’s the whole story. A few days ago I read that the tenth woman has been shot dead this year.

Why are mothers getting murdered? Do people have no respect? What values do people live by here? In Hawai’i, it was “Aloha Spirit” which kept people from killing one another. I think about and notice these things, the values and myths which keep people from descending into flesh-eating “anarchy” in every place I’ve lived. (Though I am interested in anarchy as a form of collective living.) I’m also interested in the norms on social media and how trust can be formed with others over the internet, when you are one of the unfortunate digital nomads who keeps up a sense of community through the Internet. And yet here I am, writing for your eyeballs, instead of creating connections with the people who surround me…. Ta Ta for Now…

[aym-nowen]

Long Live the Night in New Orleans.

Observing creatures of the dark.

Yesterday, I landed in New Orleans, Louisiana for the first time. I’ve been actively trying to visit this city for years, but there was either a natural disaster happening which canceled my flight or it was too out of the way. This time, the decision was light: I was coming to this city to find and play with jazz musicians, and to experience the joy of living so many people of New Orleanians apparently embody.

My research question: Is there collective joy to be experienced outside of healing communities, in which I’ve lived since arriving to America? My experience with “spiritual” or “healing” communities has been that everyone seems to come to these spaces because they’re suffering. People seek out healing communities to more fully express their authentic selves, break free of societal norms that are holding them back, and find new modalities of expression (therapeutic dance, screaming, non-violent communication). Though these communities helped me profoundly, as did attending art school, in breaking through a lot of my internal barriers, I’m curious whether people are already “enlightened” in a city like New Orleans, which seems to be all about maximizing experiences of joy in the present moment. I would argue that that’s the state a lot of the spiritual people are looking for — learning to fully embrace joy, as well as other emotions, and let go to the ride of life.

Another research question: how much can you let go to the ride of life and practice gratitude when you live in the “murder capital of America?” Is living in this city an ultimate acceptance of potential death?

My first night took me through Bourbon street, which was an absolute assault on the senses. All of them. Blasting sounds, food smells mixed with pee smells, and I was touched and asked if I wanted to “chill” with various inebriated men who approached me. It was hard to take in the architecture of the French quarter with so much going on on the streets. I saw a troupe of teenagers playing drum rhythms on buckets and metal fences, which made me laugh with joy. This is what I came here for. I saw another man with a microphone surrounded by 8 fluffy dogs at his feet. Random trumpets and trombones serenading the moon on quiet streets. Little blues trios sitting on stoops, plucking strings so sweetly in harmony together, late into the early morning.

I was searching for a muffuletta, a famous sandwich I saw Anthony Bourdain eat on TV. I ended up at a deli/bodega-type store on a quiet street, with a makeshift mobile structure parked outside that included swings, a hammock and Vivaldi music. This is the moneymaking project of my new friend, Peter, who employs others to help him socialize and collect money. For what, you might ask? For simply providing the space and the music and the good vibes, so that people might come and sit on some swings and chill together after or during a night of drinking. I wanna be a part of it!!!

Peter bicycled us, still lounging on the structure’s hammock and roof, through the town, which was dead quiet as it was around 3 o’clock in the morning by then, except for the sound of Vivaldi:

I must say, I’ve never witnessed so many miscommunications and unnecessary arguments between people in one evening. I witnessed so many conversations where people jumped to conclusions or assumed the other person was insulting them. And some people ARE very rough around the edges and unempathetic/rude in the way they address each other. It seems they don’t have the tools to communicate in a way that doesn’t offend. Instead of saying, “Could you please leave us to finish this conversation,” they’ll brusquely say, “Go away, you’re annoying.” And tension and insults ensue.

People seem to be mistrusting of each other, and discuss crime and corruption here a lot. I heard a story last night about how the Hard Rock Hotel collapsed two years ago, and they left the dead bodies on top of the building for two years because it was too dangerous to retrieve them. People could see the feet of one of the bodies sticking out of the collapsed building for two years.

It was beautiful to be in a city that never sleeps. Bars are open 24/7 here, and people congregate to drink, play music and pass time on the street. It seems conversational culture is strong here, something I miss about France. I love observing creatures of the night, those humans who lurk around at 4 am, sitting, watching the occasional passerby go by, or playing music into the quiet night. I do think I love a city with an active street and nightlife. It feels like that’s when “true natures” come out — not the buttoned up appearances we keep on in the daylight.

[aym-nowen]

at Los Angeles, California https://www.instagram.com/p/CqFvJMNLwf8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aym-nowen]

at Los Angeles, California https://www.instagram.com/p/CqFvD20LBuR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aym-nowen]

Lost in the Punaverse

Spinning

"We're all here because we're not all there," as they say.

[aym-nowen]

Elephant Head https://www.instagram.com/p/Co33UZALpjJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aym-nowen]

My Next Book

The next book I’m writing is called:

WHY I THINK I’M MENTALLY ILL: And Other Things No One is Telling Me

[aym-nowen]

Reflections on "Love"

Love, love, love. Don’t forget to LOVE. The most important message is LOVE. 

These words blare over every radio station and illuminated billboard in America. The reigning ideology of the 21st century. Buy love. Share love. Don’t forget love. It’s almost as if we were afraid of what would happen if we did. Would civilization as we know it descend into chaos? Would we all start killing each other? She eyed her current lover, sitting behind the wheel. He towered over her, his defined muscles could crunch her skull in a second. And yet, this abstract, 21st-century idea of love was supposed to protect her small bones, supposed to reassure her that he would never lay his hands on her. Scenes of crime documentaries and dismembered bodies flashed through her mind. The 21st century is a confusing place.

She had searched far and wide, trying to find an answer to a question that made everyone smile with warm eyes, like they all knew some deep secret she didn’t. What is love? Baby don’t hurt me… no more… She enjoyed asking them pointed questions and finding that underneath that vague smile was an unshakeable belief in something inexplicable: the power of a myth. 

[aym-nowen]

Identity Crisis

In a vacuum – an absolute freefall – what would I spend my time doing?

Would I paint? Read? 

Dance? Sing? Smoke weed?

Sometimes I feel like a poser and narcissist

And I wonder what I would do 

If everyone else around me

Ceased to exist

[aym-nowen]

Modern-Day Communication

I did not speak the word, no.

I did not SPEAK the word, NO.

The word was not SPOKEN.

NOT a spoken word but rather a word sent through a cloud.

A clouded word.

Cloudy with a chance of words.

[aym-nowen]

An Egg Cracks and Becomes a Sunrise

“I can see the lavender fields!

Lightness!” cried Guinevere. 

This is the sun’s way of telling us

That we’re a little bit closer 

to our job being finished here.

Whatever that may be, 

How ever we spend our morning ‘till night.

Time for celebration!

Come plumber

And pizza bumbler

And hoola-hoop schmuggler!

Billy-Bo will bring his stinky cheese guzzler, 

And Floobledy Gop has got the fries. 

And when the sun goes down

And the lavender fields can be seen 'no more

The holly-barbed jigglets will dance around the fire

And roast their smolly gores of jolly roars

And we’ll all dance until our hair turns white.

And when we're finally there —

When we just don’t care to move about in our wheeler chairs —

Let’s watch an egg crack,

Melt away 

and become a sunrise.

[aym-nowen]

Afternoon Notes

A baby is born. Imprinting my personality onto a cat. Becoming a cat. Inhabiting transactionalism. Dogs are enslaved creatures and we think they love us. The womb. Can never refind the womb. All I hear is love, love, love. Don’t forget love. The message is love. All the fucking time. Is there a reason we need to be reminded so much?