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Here’s some pics from program show last in the Monarch

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Outside

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Some Belinda - Bella Traición via my Mac photobooth idk

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At SFMoMa on Valentines Day :)

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Stand clear

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Random day in San Francisco part 2…. After lunch we walked around china town… then we hiked up to Coit Tower.. then walked over to Union Square and window shopping at Neiman Marcus.. I thought these Prada sunglasses were kinda cute….

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Random day in San Francisco part 1…. Today was all about letting the wind takes us wherever lmfao… we started at sky light bookstore, and had lunch in little Italy.

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Wednesday haul

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december 27th -

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I like to think that everyone has a different definition of pain — for some, pain is what follows after you physically hurt the body: a stubbed toe, a broken elbow, a toothache from a cavity forming after having eaten too much Halloween candy.

This kind of pain, while temporary, leaves one with the impression that pain is something to be overcome, not embraced. 

The summer swallowed me whole, and like a fool with no self-defense, I let it take me. Stuck to the floor, I had nowhere left to run. So, I find myself sitting in the back of the train, eyes glued to the floor, only glancing up every so often when the train makes another stop. Pain has a way of blinding me. Most days, I'm not quite sure what’s up anymore, so I sit here quietly, higher than my expectations to be good again. 

I learned at an early age that pain had an almost humorous way of manifesting into our lives, unpredictable like an ocean, calm one minute, unstoppable the next. 

The fluorescent lights as I enter the corner store hit me harder than the cold Richmond breeze outside. The familiar face behind the counter has never been one for small talk, so I skip the formalities and place an alcoholic lemonade, a small blue lighter, and ask for a pack of reds, shooting him a quick smile before paying. As I walk out I can't help but wonder what he thinks of me and immediately hate that it crossed my mind. 

The internet is filled with quotes about letting the pain go, how there’s always a lesson waiting for you on the other side, how the only way out is through, and how rainy days eventually turn into sunny ones. Television ad breaks are filled with pharmaceutical commercials, happy people dance in circles to pop music as a voiceover lists the deathly side effects. Religion will have one belief that pain is a punishment from God, a test of faith, a mission from the great beyond to prove oneself to its higher power up above. 

“Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” - William Goldman. 

The ritual is always the same, I draw myself into a circle of doubt, and it doesn’t take long to give in to the temptation to run away from it. I rummage through my wardrobe, looking for someone new to impersonate, a version of myself more suitable for public comment. A new vintage designer shirt, that pair of black Levi’s I bought when I was 19, jewelry I've collected from trips around the world — it comes together in the shape of a man trying so desperately to be seen.  

I’ve never considered myself a smoker, as a child the smell of cigarette smoke reminded me of my birth father. I’ve always had a hard time recalling the last memory I had with him, but when I close my eyes I can see fragments of a childhood that doesn’t feel like mine. I can see him, the way he walked, the scent of tobacco that followed him from room to room. I don’t consider myself a smoker, but it's been five years and I haven’t been able to quit, so maybe I'm a liar just like him.  

I’ve found that pain never leaves the body, while the physical sensation might be temporary, its aftershocks can be felt decades later. 

The summer has left me cold, and I find myself walking alone again beneath the broken street lights. I’ve done this dance plenty of times before, the music coming through my earphones drowns out any thought of rationality. The ground beneath my feet begins to shift and I’m on stage, with the night as my witness. She paints a scene saturated in reds and blues, strobes of flashing white lights, scented over the smell of tobacco vanilla. 

Focused on the vibrations of the train I forget that I'm going somewhere, that I used to be somebody outside of all of this. The noise begins to settle underneath me, my hands begin to tingle and I can’t feel the pain in my feet anymore. The lights of the train dim behind my sunglasses, the night starts to blur together.

I catch my reflection in the window of an office building, the silver chain around my neck reflecting the city lights, and I can’t help but think of my mother. I’ll confess, I’m not winning son-of-the-year anytime soon, but my mother never showed me closeness, so we’ve learned to stand at arm's length. The chain was a gift from her, something she purchased on a trip to Mexico. Attached to the chain is a pendant of the Virgin Mary. I wonder what she thinks of my mother, I wonder what my grandmother would think of me now. 

Pain has a way of latching onto everything you give it access to, a happy memory, now tainted with a painful glare — suddenly it becomes a chore to remember a happier time. 

I’ve held faith close many times before — I've spun it, manipulated it, shifted its meaning, and used it to get my way. A once faithful conversation with classmates about the future, now a sentiment of immediate danger up ahead. I’ll say “I’m fine” and lie again if I'm asked to clarify, it’s too complicated to explain my state of mind, I’ve grown tired of explaining myself to strangers. Salvation is a whisper amongst friends, a hopeful gesture of goodwill, a prayer that things will get better soon — I've never held the desire to be saved by some righteous third party. 

“Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain” - Bob Dylan. 

I could walk these streets forever, drunk off the thought that tomorrow I could stop myself from doing it again. I could stop myself from having another smoke break, from stepping back inside and ordering another drink — just maybe not tonight. l let the base of the music move me from room to room. I catch a glimpse of myself from a mirror placed behind the bar, buzz-cutted, stubbornly alone, knowing I wouldn't have it any other way. Turning back around, I examine the people sitting next to me, I look forward and take a mental picture of the dance floor, eager to find my way back into the heat of things.  

Some nights pain comes as a reminder of a decision to leave it all behind. When the shape of a stranger dancing mimics the body of an old friend. For a split second, the world holds its breath, until you realize… it’s not them. The thought lingers for a second before disappearing back into the crowded dance floor. I hold myself steady as the night comes to a boiling point, in desperate need of a smoke break, the thought of fleeing the scene becomes overwhelming. 

This pain is my testament, a declaration of life, that it was real — nothing about this has ever felt temporary, this pain will die with me. 

“Face your life, its pain, its pleasure, leave no path untaken.” ― Neil Gaiman. 

Throwing my body into the backseat of a car, I don’t make much effort to hold small talk with the driver, I don't think he minds. The car ride out of the city over the bridge always leaves me speechless, but this place doesn't feel like home. Yet, I can’t help but feel happy in the present moment, zooming past all the cars, a slight breeze coming in from the open window. 

Some nights there’s nothing left to do but embrace it, the chaos, the good, the bad, the ugly truth, the writing on the wall — the pain left behind from the thrill of it all.

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From portola weekend! b2b boiler rooms + a dj set from the dare and finished the weekend with disclosure at Midway.

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Some owls outside