The Fairytale Fringe

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Red ass and red lips, the seasonal sensation,

Everything gets washed in my manifestation.

An orchestrated fantasy: A trip towards the past…

My childhood fancy – Nothing but a blast –

Rules and restrictions broken in good will…

Mischievous make believe my satiating fill.

…Until the end of the day…

And that wondrous exhaustion,

A wonderful place to get lost in…
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A Fire In My Belly

I get romantic about the struggle – There are times when the inhumanity of it all reaches deafening heights. Your billion dollar CEOs rushing past that vagabond who’s been hit by a car and lies bleeding in the street, while 8 different people offer you “smoke” in the park, where dogs play and Filipina Nannies push new born babes past a heap of late 90’s computer hardware. Amidst the honking horns and screeching tires… a Juilliard music grad plays for change outside a subway stop and along the fenced-in basketball court one of the last icons of the East Village art scene prepares another Mosaic for a lamp post, before falling asleep on the street with an empty stomach and his homeless dog. For me, it’s the proximity of these extraordinary events, taking place simultaneously just a few steps away from one another. The competitive spirit and aggressive nature… and yet the grandeur, grace, culture and diversity. One might think to exist in such a grotesque circus of civilization you’d need push the limits of your own morality. Monstrous temptations abound. However, it seems to me there is a certain acceptance that is required, in order to continue. One must embrace the madness. I am truly divided down to my core in this place. What I am… where my interests lie… what I believe… It is a glorious challenge... A supreme effort is required… I must look the beautiful disasters dead in the face. It is at times striking and hideous. But… my soul begins to grab hold of a new kind of strength. There’s a fire in my belly… I am growing.