28.03.2025
Last night I dreamt that Meredith Monk and I connected. I pushed past the 3 or 4 other people waiting to speak to her after her show, elbowed myself to the front. She took me into a room and we spent hours talking. When I left the room, I guiltily avoided eye-contact with the other people who were still waiting to meet her, thinking "I wish I had asked for a selfie to send my friends."
25.03.2025
Saw the red-tailed hawk in TSP again, brought my binoculars this time. After a Google, learned that Christo, the resident male hawk of the park since 2013, presumably passed away this year. Christo, adored, tabloid bird. A New York Post article from 2018, Tompkins Square Park’s cheating hawk strikes again. I do not want to direct traffic there, so I will post the body of the article here:
Tompkins Square Park’s claw-sanova is now servicing not two, but three chicks at the same time.
The red-tailed stud named Christo made the front page of The Post in March for dipping his, um, beak in the nests of two different female hawks. His supposed mate-for-life Dora had gone to an animal hospital for an injured wing and returned a few months later to find her paramour had taken up with a flewzy named Nora.
But over the last month, the pair seemed to be patching things up, even though Christo would still make the occasional booty call at Nora’s nest. Then two weeks ago Dora re-injured her wing, believe it or not, fighting off an unknown female hawk. And it was off to rehab again. That’s when Christo’s wandering eye reappeared — along with yet another side chick.
The new nest-wrecker is named Amelia. “She was there within ten minutes,” said Laura Goggin, 36, who’s been documenting the ménage à quad on her blog. “I think she had been keeping an eye on the situation since she saw Dora was in a weakened state and took her opportunity.” The cheep slut even made herself at home in Dora’s nest near East 8th Street and Avenue B.
“Amelia started bringing twigs to it and spending time in it right away,” said Goggin. “And Christo completely accepted her and brought her a rat, which is a nice gift.” Meanwhile, bird watchers say Christo still has the energy to visit his original feathered mistress Nora at her nest around the Jacob Riis Houses on Avenue D between East 10th and East 13th Streets.
“She never liked to be in Dora’s nest,” said Goggin. Bird lovers — who have watched Christo and Dora rear 10 chicks and rule the roost at Tompkins for the last five years — are broken up by Christo’s fowl lust. “We are all shocked and stunned that this is happening again,” said Goggin. “It’s been an emotional roller coaster.”
Taking up with three lady hawks is also “extremely rare,” said Bobby Horvath, a wildlife rehabilitator who’s nursing Dora back to health. “Two happens, but I’ve never heard of three.”
Christo and Amelia were getting ready for what was to be their 7th season at the beginning of this year (I guess Amelia won out in the end). Several sweet memorial posts. Including this one.
Amelia is now with a younger hawk (unnamed), the younger hawk is the one I’ve been seeing.you can find pics of him here.Sad that blogs are referring to him as the new male or mate, while everybody else has names. Complicated that he’s the new guy -> makes me feel both better and worse about my affection towards him. Worse like, having missed the glory days of something, arriving too late to the party, starting a new high school and unknowingly kissing the top dog's ex. Better like, even playing field, unmuddled attention.
When will he be Christened, and by who?
Thinking a lot about the John Berger essay, The Nature of Mass Demonstrations. you can read here.
19.03.2025
FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck FUCKED that images from a genocide have become "familiar" - this morning and evening again, seeing yellowed corpses – children – shrapnel under the skin. Will never forget seeing young people hang upside down, from the window of a building just bombed. Photos of organs falling out of people, spilled onto pavement, smearing blankets. Every day, more people losing limbs, families, homes. The helicopters circle above us in New York at the afterwork protests. Children burned gray, bits of rubble falling down their loose arms like raindrops. Do not know what else to say about witnessing genocide. Free Palestine, Palestine forever.
12.03.2025
Butter beans for my love last year, spiced gently, made in 30 minutes with the window open, the kitchen was so humid, the window was wishful thinking, no breeze. We ate them in 10 minutes, sitting on the bed with the AC on full blast. I moved my index finger like a spatula, wiping clean lines against the side of the bowl. So good that I invited our friends over for dinner the next week. That time, I left the beans on the flame too long, unpleasantly thick, and used spices I bought from an organic shop in Greenpoint that were more potent, and I made the same mistake I always do. Thinking that by adding more, I would improve the flavour, blow you away, impress. And ten minutes before they both arrived at the house, a spoonful of the beans sent me back to the first few weeks of trying to cook in college. I don’t want them thinking that I still cook like I did when I was 18, I said, and hid the beans in the oven. Then I served toast (too oily) with a tomato salad we bought heirlooms for from the farmer’s market that neither of us could afford (every measure for success). We say, If I opened a restaurant, my patrons wouldn't know if they were going to eat or not. We fill up on crisps.
A month later, we are living in a new house. This kitchen isn’t built on a slant like the last one, so the oil doesn’t pool in the corner of the saucepan like we were used to. My love doesn’t cook in this house, and neither do I. There are no pots of beans hiding in the oven. The toilet backs up and water with little bits of brown spills out from underneath the toilet door and into the hallway. We stuff the gap between the two with towels belonging to the girls who used to live here. Wishful thinking, water keeps on flowing. You leave a week later and we are both crying as you lift your suitcase into the back of the taxi. I stop cooking for a while. When I start up again, everything tastes like it did when I was 18.
11.03.2025
Enjoying the weather’s turn. Watching a red-tailed hawk in Tompkins Square Park everyday. We seem to be taking our breaks together, stepping just outside our nests. My boss directed me to Dennis Edge’s book, Tompkins Square Park Birds. Dennis, Trotsykite and “The Birdman” of Tompkins Square Park. I fill my bag with books, hoping that if I'm bored some evening they will call me away from something like snooping on r/selfimprovement.
Midway through three essays, I'm supposed to be working on them right now. Believe that in the next couple of weeks, college residue will defrost and I’ll be ready to return. If not, I'm going to have to take a knife into the freezer. In the meantime, I’ve resolved to address my movie ignorance. I’m swapping out TV for movies. Decided on this after I watched Season 2 of Kitty XO in two days. Veritably, a show made for 13 year olds. Everybody is in love with Kitty, she even gets a kiss from her crush who doesn’t fancy her. Good for teenagers, unfortunate clashes with my cynicism.
This week, all about Ingmar Bergman, Vanessa’s “Bergminator.” LOVED Persona, watched on the first sunny day with Ella, Vanessa, and Amanda. I’m a sucker for movies where two characters are trapped in an intense psychological battle, themes of absorption. Especially when well-costumed. Ticked the box ! Kisses my cynicism. Last month shows: Urika’s Bedroom, Otto, DISSENSUS, Moby Dick Opera, Anna gig. Otto gig, drop of shampoo that irritates your eyes, washed down the drain - SO tender.
15.02.2025
I was fervently writing notes for a new blog post, the last couple of months. I ended up with mangled words that were pretty snooze! I won’t be updating this page every month, I was so excited by the idea of the website that I over-promised.
It's snowing right now. I love the snow, jumping on and sliding down large heaps shoveled to the side of the footpath. I am beaming at everybody as I walk around Manhattan. I am stunned by my love for it, its light reflection. I like throwing snowballs, rolling around in it, being impulsive without damage. I brought my Dad’s old binoculars to Riverside Park and saw woodpeckers, Downy and Red-bellied. I love their calls, they sound like a series of exclamation marks. !!! I watched a squirrel chewing on some ice. Every morning, I have a slice of pumpernickel bread with marmalade that Amanda and Vanessa made out of oranges picked from the Floridian roadside. I am laughing so much, preserve-sticky fingers pressing into newly formed ground.
