cailtin,
It's been a long time since I've at all felt apart of humanity. There are several notes that I wrote while walking to Judson Memorial Church, I thought I'd attempt to place this off of memory, I suppose I'll attempt to intermix the two. Otherwise my blog will never express in any way, let alone the sadness that the police attack a peaceful movement for no apparent reason. I'm forced to sleep before films but I covered this already, how somebody had me leave before the police attacked us. My Al, the guardian angel James Hughes who watches over me in my quantum leap of hell. It's a spiritual force of the school of visual arts, this is what I believe Hughes to be the deepest possible friend, the belief of an angel within a man, as I believe in you as my wife beyond dreams and a body where one can possess thoughts, beyond fear and a world where my life has ended. I mention Spalding Grey in my notes an egotistical reference to the fact that he felt nervous, that his journals are published, the he committed suicide in the east river and in my childhood on my father's flat screen I remember his 2 hour rant of a film. I'm supposed to insert ego in the thing I'm in, I don't have a choice. This reference to Spading Grey stays in my auto new york repertoire but seems absurd after the events of seeing occupy wall street invaded. Something beautiful invaded for no apparent reason, there are lies about feces in local venues garbage cans written in the Metro, things that were never done I don't know why these lies are spread. These are the only people who have welcomed me as this lonely creature that I've become these days walking the earth searching for my medicine writing to you arguing with nothing, this strange mason or what have you entrance exam this thing is. I don't want to be a mason I want to be a man but none of this matters for the thing that I'm in, you can't quit you have to reach the end, no choice. We can create a tv station in williamsburg, brooklyn if I ever reach the other side, there's a mass amount of cash I'll be signing over to you. I see Bonnie and Clyde in Time Out New York, the beauty of the comfort station is remembered my love for fashion, the dream that I could look like a man as a creature people speak through. I wish I lived on the runway, with people on the runway, I almost had a job for video fashion in 2008 with my hvx and still live in this moment. Perhaps I can find work as an editor. I can't take the homeless poverty I've been forced into, I don't know why I'm forced into this homeless poverty, I don't want to stay in the depression of a shelter, I'd rather sleep in a tent and represent something. Nobody will come to me no matter how I ask them on the other side, it's not the sort of thing you can quit. You rigged me to question all of this the desperation of searching for the way out is the journey taken off pause, the horror of the reality of what this is. On the walk to Judson last night a brother hands me a water and food, recognizes me, police surround us on our walk, somebody later pounds me fist inside the church which welcomes us to sleep for the night, it's rare anyone recognizes me, it feels nice for somebody to know I'm alive, day and night all I know are echoes of people, distant references to roommates I had who the people on the other end used to play the role of while the friends we had in youth think I'm homeless, I live the sin and shame of my existence. Still refusing to live with my biological father that sometimes is demanded as a class status insult, I see this as another way they shit on Gunnar while he was alive now as he's dead, I'll never forgive this thing for allowing him to die with me trapped in this, but this isn't what they ask right now, it's a small absurd thing, actually incredibly deep but it goes away when I get them out of my eye. Hughes explains this, but it's the insult of inhumanity that I live. I dream of bloomberg's watergate for associating to me and for what he did to occupy wall street. I tell somebody this in the morning of Judson Memorial Church, how there's claims he spoke through me. Perhaps the exposure is not yet. Hughes rigs me something if anything a dream of a girl named Lauren with green hair who's apart of the movement I could will internally to hook up with, it's been a long time since I've had any form of a crush or fantasy. I've been trapped in a nightmare hell, I'd write to you about this. Judson Memorial Church is a symbol of a place I still live as the arcade fire kid, I listen to Neon Bible in this moment and a small cliche version of you exists, telling me small intellect words nothing of the emotional depth of my love for you (i didn't listen to fevers and mirrors which is merited in my world but not at the level of what I needed to represent in that moment of the arcade fire and my belief in the movement to restore me as a man). I still need cash, have to write in the apple store until I panhandle an iPad, get a job in film, find a way to survive as I enter this journey. I create art I live with the hope that you'll marry me, I write notes of events that happened that you'll never know about like the hbo Bill Mahr promotions I made for the channel I dream of you owning at Domino Sugar named Little Nemo (programming written at penn station of tv shows that never happened but I was promised were filmed, lied to and believed this daily) on these spray painted Bill Mahr posters I found outside Live With Animals on Metropolitan Avenue, moments like this are key to me in my dream of a television station I was told existed. I was told people were inside Domino Sugar for years but nobody was inside this place. I have been placed on a journey of limbo, I hoped somebody might acknowledge me at occupy wall street, but I know you placed me there as a digital ghost. Tuxedo Mask of Easton, CT dreaming of the white lady caitlin rodriguez to marry. As I eat, as I sleep as I smoke I pray to you hoping you're out there somewhere that somebody has told you that I exist that this is happening. So many people played you throughout the years, I hope you know of my existence. I trust nobody who says they're you knowing how many people are on my eye. I pray you've taken all god function.
I pray internally that occupy wall street continues to exist, to eat without stealing to be clothed to have others who believe in a cause to have the beauty of hope and a community. I don't understand why the nypd would break such a thing up. I'd follow them to dc (a man mentions this next to the crush girl lauren) but then Hughes mentions staying. Lauren mentions Brooklyn. I wish I was directly apart of Brooklyn but I'm apart of nothing in limbo dreaming of a party in Williamsburg where somebody knows I exist but there's nothing inside of me. I write cellar door dreaming this will all go away that I could somehow teleport home to my dorm room and music from Donnie Darko, mad world, plays inside the apple store, it leads me to believe somebody in this store knows I exist but even this is a lie something planned by James Hughes where you and him now control this god level of knowing the thoughts of others. The mayor is the reason I have a jail record, I just want to be a man I don't want to be an overlord but I have to tell myself a story about being Brandon Flowers, give myself an ego in the moments of this nightmare to get through. Maybe it waters down the art, perhaps it lowers the emotional depth of something that's happening to me happening to a man, perhaps it misses the emotional point I wish to reach in your heart, I don't know because I'm trapped on my end. I love you.
-Little Nemo
(christopher)
A Caitlin Rodriguez Production
Little Nemo on HBO
11/15/2011
black caitlin heart
the school of visual arts church of silver tiles day 386/8 james hughes days
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