thebeff

[thebeff]

My first week of grad school

This Tuesday I started an MFA program in Game Design at NYU’s Game Center in Brooklyn. It’s pretty fucking weird to be back in school after being out for over 8 years.

But it’s a good feeling. This shit is insanely expensive, and there are a whole slew of new factors that make it feel, well, nothing at all like undergrad:

1. I’m way older (30 to be exact)

2. I’m paying for all of this myself (and will be for a very long time)

3. I’m an out queer dude (this, strangely, feels weird)

4. I live in an apt with my boyfriend of 7.5 years

This is all to say, that in many ways I feel much more “businessy” this time around at University. I’m on a mission here, and it’s pretty straightforward: to learn and network and build a portfolio that will lead me to a more exciting and rewarding career. 

I know this city. I have amazing friends, some of whom I met here and have known now for 12 years. This isn’t about finding myself, or making a space that’s a home. It’s about sharpening my skills, building new relationships, and absorbing everything around me like a sponge. 

This semester consists of 5 classes: 

1. Game Studies I

2. Game Design I

3. Game Studio I

4. Games 101

5. Code Lab 0

I have now been to 4/5 of them and so far, so good. The faculty here is INCREDIBLE. I literally geek out every time I realize who someone is - Eric Zimmerman, who’s teaching me Design, of Diner Dash. Matt Parker, who’s my Code Lab teacher, is one of the IndieCade big shots. Robert Yang and Naomi fucking Clark work here. Everyone is just so inspiring and cool and I’m so excited to be around them and learn from them . 

What I’m worried about, as usual, is self-discipline. Here I am, delaying working on my lil’ chicken game for Studio, writing on my Tumblr. But I just gotta do it. 

[thebeff]

Instagram Stories - September 25th 2016

It glows from my grey couch, with the traffic

sounds of Brooklyn outside, as it glows for you,

the celebrity a span of continent away, dressed

and relaxing in joy within a smaller spotlight,

and you, my passing lover, as you walk by

the public staring into mirrored fences,

as you share with me and her your favorite

work, its white metal shining in the new fall sun.

As it glows for the drag queens in Chelsea

still glittering after shell shock, trying on clothes

all full of holes in some undecorated loft

echoing with their beautiful laughter,

as for the the boy donning horns in the nightclub

with the golden chain around his neck

and for his lover with him, mustachioed

and smiling to be remembered. I will remember you.

For the babe, whose closed eyes cannot see

you capturing her for me, for us, for the first time,

happy traveler, documentarian of friendship -

for the red-haired artist who watches her sister shepherd

half a dozen miniature ballerinas and the one boy

amongst them with his white shirt and black shorts

and love for dancing. I was you once as you are now.

For the unpaid hustler promoting your work,

your photographs once taken, since transported,

having published, and now recorded moving,

it glows just as it does for the marriage of one

twice-removed from me. I wish you joy though

I am not with you and will never know your name.

For the painter in the gym with the writer lifting

weights and posing, as though for me,

it glows within the mirror.

And for you, beautiful taster sitting alone in the bar

with your book and your wine and your telling me

the glow connects us to the comedian and her

musician boyfriend, on a deck in the sunshine

shouting pet names and drinking water

in a sundress, I have heard them all.

I am with them all as it passes glowing.

For the portrait-maker, sketching out base layers

of fresh watercolors, pale hay surrounding

nakedness I recognize, do you hear as I do through

glowing the sounds of the concert south of us

at which the jewelry-maker and the television

channel listen with plugged ears? I listen or am

silent in the glow within all your colorful music.

For the filmmaker, with some strange and smooth

white man fanning the long green grass with his hands -

he stares through kaleidoscope lenses that you take

and hand to me to witness the tucked-in purple gradient

in sunlight as you rest upon his stomach with the glow

resting upon me.

I have missed so much of this real

world and have seen more than anyone has seen of it

for centuries. I have let it kiss me in the darkness

night after night as I long for other kisses.

We cannot be stopped, we the fountain glowing.

[thebeff]

Meg was frustrated, wondering why the sunlight insisted on changing every day. There was a moment, around 11:23 in late Spring, when the rays dived through her sheer drapes at such a cinematic angle as to guarantee an aquarium of optimal illumination for her near naked body to writhe and swim within. It was an assured 2500 likes on a picture set in one of those rare rectangles of cooperative nature, at the least. But today, it was evidently no longer late Spring. The tilt of the Earth had swung absentmindedly towards the corner of the building across her shaft in SoHo. It had cut off her source. She’d have to get creative. 

Or she could just scrunch back down into that blob of blanket, cashmere, and cat fur she had so eagerly bounced up from this near to optimal posting time. Her legion was most active on Saturdays, pre and post-brunch, but she was usually a little too full of champagne to safely hit that 2PM circuit. The 11 AM hour was better for her look anyway - brighter, lighter, with more air and whiteness and the chance of still deciding to become more beautiful today floating all about her like a trick of empathy, or light. It wasn’t really a decision that she made then, when she moved the floor lamp over from it’s nook next to her banana leaf plant over to her window, but of a former her, a more sober her, with a strategy and a sense of purpose, and an honest nurture towards the tens of thousands of people she never once had met but who looked for her each weekend, whatever time they lived in before her noon. Her uncertainty stayed behind, muffled in the blankets. 

If she aimed the brass dome of the lamp from about five feet out of frame, and extended the base up to its tip, she could suffer the risk of it toppling to emulate the flash of clarity the sun had brought to her skin. It was well-moisturized, having been the arena for an endless exhibition of beauty regimens, sent to her by friends, by editors, by PR gods and their much appreciated (though elongated) access to thoroughfares of income. She wasn’t sure which of them were working, but she was grateful at least one of them was. As she lifted herself up on the ball of her left foot, calf tensed and displaying gradients of light, she remembered her skin just five years ago, and how much she couldn’t imagine it having ever been a part of her now. There was so much deliberate distance between that calf and now, so much work and attention and time spent by pairs of unknown eyes around the world just staring at her like she was now. If the people with those eyes knew that prior self, not just through words in a caption carefully constructed to reveal vulnerability, or humility, or relatability, but knew her, as Meg knew her daily, in the high definition of remembrance, would they wait for her still? She hadn’t answered this before the distraction of the shutter brought her back to 11:30. It was ill-timed, so she would reset it, return to position, and perfect the moment alone.

[thebeff]

DEBUGGING TOOLS FOR THE BRAIN Why let the mind function like old legacy software? CFAR has developed exercises to help identify and fix bad mental habits. ROUTINE-TASK ESTIMATES How to optimize daily activities to save time. Pick an activity you engage in frequently (brushing your teeth, washing the dishes). How long does the activity take you each day? Over the next 10 years, you will spend ___ on your activity. Think about how you can do it faster. How many minutes would it take you then?

“The Happiness Code” - The New York Times Magazine

Please, add up all the time I’ve spent staring at the hairs lining your jaw, the ones that make the roundness of your wide face so alluring in the yellow light bounced off the palm. Aggregate the seconds into years I’ll spend placing my fingers between your thumb and index, which really is the time I take wishing I could be the knife that cuts the flowing water of your anxiety, your endless need to move, to twitch, to rub and touch when I only pray for calm for you.

Quantify, in mass, the mound of sand the minutes make while I wait for you, which I hardly ever mind, imagining you out there, part pilot and half tumbleweed of ambition, friendship, fate, the city we have spread across like spores, then husk, then spores, then sleep, together. Measure out the passage of time I’ve loved you unproductively, compare it to the distance that’s between our knowing selves, and wonder what sized infinity is the remainder.

[thebeff]

My fave albums of 2015

10. Fetty Wap - Fetty Wap Kudos to a bro who can live up to the hype of being on constant HOT 97 rotation for the entire summer. This debut did not disappoint. Instead, it got me REAL pumped for what he’s gonna do next. 9. Grimes - Art Angels WAS NOT EVEN A GRIMES (MUSIC) FAN, but this album is lit af. It just really makes me want to dance in, like, a weird way. The collaborations on it are legit (especially Monae) and she’s feeding me some Cher meets Aqua which can only be good. 8. Joanna Newsom - Divers This album may move up as the year comes to a close, as there’s just so much to parse through here. Spend 5 minutes on the Genius page for this album and you’ll be off in a history lesson about New York City and ornithology in no time. Carrie Brownstein recently called Joanna “a gift to humanity” and in so many ways, I agree. Her lyricism, unabashed RenFaire appreciation vibes, and her consistent insight into human relationships (both with each other and with our universe) are truly special. I’m glad we’re alive at the same time. Plus, who doesn’t love songs about fantastical future space wars. 7. Hop Along - Painted Shut New artist o’ the year for me. This album crept up on me like a punch to the face. Saddle Creek hasn’t shown its face to me in a hot minute and it’s good to see the descendants of my youth holding it down hard with the female-led indie rage that keeps me going year after year. 6. Waxahatchee - Ivy Tripp The pressure was ON for K Crutch this year after the shining jewel that was Cerulean Salt. Though this album didn’t quite reach the same depth of emotion as its predecessor, it’s still a beautifully written collection of songs that I can listen to on repeat basically forever. 5. Screaming Females - Rose Mountain If this list were a ranking of “Best Music To RageStomp Home From The Subway WIth” it’d be #1. Marissa is at the top of her vocal game on this album, and the added production value, which for this scene is always a worry, was done tastefully and with purpose. Also, long live New Brunswick. 4. Sufjan Stevens - Carrie & Lowell I’ve been worried about Sufjan, but C&L proved I needn’t be. His songwriting is only getting better with age, and these beautiful, timeless arrangements are sparse and decadent in all the right places. Vulnerability is still a path for success here and it’s in full force. 3. Titus Andronicus - The Most Lamentable Tragedy I frequently oscillate between believing that TA is the voice of our generation and that no one will ever understand me, especially my mom. This concept album is rife with deft allusion, riding on manic waves of ecstasy and anguish. Time travel expressed through differing LP speeds was also one of my favorite music novelties of the year. I accidentally purchased this album twice. 2. Beach House - Thank Your Lucky Stars Though this was a severe troll move on the band’s part, TYLS has solidified my belief in Beach House as one of the greatest album-makers of our generation. All of the spookiness that’s been leaking out of their sound since Teen Dream returned matured here, and I’m back in love, fully. 1. Mount Eerie - Sauna I remember telling my co-worker Chris in the bathroom in the beginning of 2015 that we had already found the album of the year, and I was right. Apparently, we’ve all been merely climbing up the side of Mount Eerie for the past decade to reach this glorious apex of intimate and expansive, introverted and empathetic masterworks. Plane rides will literally never be the same for me. Honorable Mentions: Tame Impala - Currents Beach House - Depression Cherry Jamie XX - In Colour Drake & Future - What a Time To Be Alive Built to Spill - Untethered Moon Deerhunter - Fading Frontier Janet Jackson - Unbreakable

[thebeff]

yellow light

"I simply couldn't," she said in that way that made Jared feel as though, among other less rank transformations, he were a dried up turd on the bed sheets of an abandoned love hotel. "There's just so much to do before the week starts."

"Of course," he agreed.

"With the new order coming up on Wednesday and all the consulting work we have left to do on that Beeswax sculpture I was telling you about." Meg got up off the couch to coddle together a few of her scattered items left at Jared's apartment over the last few weeks. "And Lainie asked me over to her studio around seven tonight to take my photograph for some feature in her blog. Apparently, it's been getting like, a million hits a week." She turned to stare at him for a beat, hands buried in her tote filled with scarves and smelly underwear, and flats. "You wouldn't want to come would you?"

"I don't think I can tonight. I promised Franci we'd chill," Jared dodged as he caught Meg's eye. "You know those things are no fun for me anyway."

Meg turned back to her shitty tote pack job, looking frenetic and beautiful, crouched there on her toes, her ass just barely touching the backs of her heels. The yellow light from Jared's standing lamp sunk through the strays of her hair, gone this golden at such a luxuriously early part of Summer.

"Oh well," she sighed, slapping her thighs before bouncing up to shoulder her bag and turn towards him. "You know how much I'd love you there."

"But you can love me right here," he said and stretched a smile and a limb.

She tip-toed over to him with a smirk, moving across the room, carrying in her steps all the royalty left in this world. "And everywhere," she whispered before kissing him on the tip of the nose. "It's just...there's so much to do."

She left and Jared took his phone out of his pocket. Three missed texts from Jin, 2 snaps from Sarah, an alert about a mid-sized earthquake in Southeast Asia, and a reminder to do push-ups that he set to repeat three months ago and ignored after two days. He swiped his way to an order of veggie Thai delivery and then stared blankly at the door to his apartment, wondering what it was like outside.

He wondered if Meg was one block away by now, or two, and if she were imagining the sidewalk as a runway like he sometimes thought she might do when she's alone, or if she stared back into the eyes of any of the men that inevitably bound themselves to her for a few belly-tightening seconds. It wasn’t jealousy he felt, just uselessness. 

[thebeff]

Never before have so many people I love disliked me as much as they do now. I would like to say that I believe this is the worst of it, but I don't think it is. I fear that the methods I have developed to cope with my own anger and self-loathing have transformed me into an emblem of misunderstanding. It is as though I am on the other side of the door, roach-like, and clumsy with size, scratching sounds out of myself that pass fear through wood, and resentment. How can I protect myself and still be loving? What is it that I need protection from? This year started off on such a terrible foot with my family. I was faced with unintended insult towards my sexuality in a way I hadn't been in years, but I was not the same. I pricked up, and fear that I have yet to truly disarm (or that I ever will). What armor I have about me is one of words and colors; I have grown my hair in front of my eyes as I did when I first loved a man. It is childish, and I out wear my youth as a defense. I do not want to be a bitter man, or to lose graciousness, or gratitude, or to be thought of only as delightful in dabs. Collecting trolls is a habit of children, and if anything these spines are meant to stick to growing.

[thebeff]

This is such a a pretty one

What is your favorite poem?

first one that came to mind is this one by marshall mallicoat

The turpentine camps of north florida

In loud places you can sing to yourselfAlone with your barsIn a nowhere filled with peopleI want to be left alone for three daysTo do drugs and look at things on the internetWhen Im done Ill come backThe drunkest someone has gotten in an applebeesIve gotten that drunk in my apartmentMy spine curved toward the computerLike a flower toward the sunThe world is big and smallAnd I can never make someone know meTho Ive convinced myself I know myselfMy bedroom is a time machineMoving into the futureOne second per secondWhile everything moves away from everything elseIm really doing this thingIm tryna love youSitting on the train or standing on the trainChinese food to go or chinese food to stay

[thebeff]

…perhaps, the true appeal of the virtual job is simply that we are free to clock out when we choose, or to quit entirely without penalty. In this way, we become the master of that to which, outside of the game, we are bound.

Simon Parkin on the relationship between work and play, and why we choose to labor in video games like Farming Simulator or Football Manager. (via newyorker)

god i love games

[thebeff]

i think about this every week at least once

[thebeff]

keep your life small -

you’ll see. the city’s bombs

go off on second avenue

while you wait for ice cream

in a hotel (London) and wonder

why, if he meant to hear your voice

this day, he hasn’t. 

[thebeff]

[thebeff]

2k15

2014 was the year that two friends died, and sadly, as i look out the window of this hotel room, the fifth sunset of 2015 shines its peachy glow off a fake Eiffel Tower without letting me forget it. 

in the plane over to Vegas, I read the latest MashReads book, which depicts a world in which most everyone dies at once. i paused at a moment that describes a time before that collapse - when a single death still means enough to stop for. i look out of an oval window and the sky is clear enough to let me peek down at the wintry patchwork of middle America in January, but all I see is my dead friend rotting. I think of his body sinking away from clothes he rarely wore, and his sweet face, pockmarked, now sallow, brown and buried. it was a morbid thought. 

other friend has a death too young to imagine so fully, even from forty thousand feet up. i won't let her rest so really yet. 

i miss them and wonder: may i live for them in secret

[thebeff]

So proud to have been a part of this!

Portraits from the mashable x @streetdreamsmag meet at Coney Island, NYC. 

See work from the instagram community: 

http://iconosquare.com/viewer.php#/tag/mashmeet/

Photography by Dave Krugman, @dave.krugman on Instagram.

[thebeff]

from Vice News - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nu7hAZQClS0&list=TLFHYiC5mBX1zGIs0-t-QahAXJN1SRh-gU

[thebeff]

The most insidious forms of discipline do not rely on physical exclusion or isolation. Rather, the most insidious forms of discipline serve to convince women, or anyone else, of their own "autonomy" as the very device for distracting their attention from the rules with which they govern themselves or for convincing them that they chose those rules and the concomitant discipline.

94 Turner, William B. - A Genealogy of Queer Theory { on Bartky & Foucault }

[thebeff]

End of Another Home Holiday - D. H. Lawrence

But when I draw the scanty cloak of silence over my eyes Piteous love comes peering under the hood; Touches the clasp with trembling fingers, and tries To put her ear to the painful sob of my blood; While her tears soak through to my breast, Where they burn and cauterize.

I’ve always loved these lines.