BUSHWICK SAYS… is back. I document lives of Bushwick residents and strangers through random pictures, quotes, stories, and anecdotes. This week I met an irked artist, a Nerf Gun enthusiast, and an old man singing Uncle Kracker.
I wish I had things to express on this page—but I don’t. It’s not a reflection on you at all by any means. But sometimes I feel dead inside.
“I like to play this game with my friends called ‘ Destructible.’ Basically, one person draws a picture, and then the next person draws something to destroy the previous drawing, and then another person draws a picture to destroy that…”
“A gruesome exquisite corpse?”
“Kinda. It’s funny. In coffee shops, people draw no problem. But when I did this in art school and people…they couldn’t draw anything because…”
Slams fist on the table.
“Dammit, it all had to be perfect.”
The idea of “perfection” generally brings me to a philosophical rant about subjectivity, which I’d rather not subject unto y’all right now. But, in short, I grew up a perfectionist, the neighborhood kid who rewrote his homework because a few “s’s” resembled “g’s.” And I’m no longer a full-blown OCD, perfectionist, except if a fucking staple is crooked.
Like an unruly staple, Bushwick endured a peculiar week under my, oh-so-watchful, eyes. Odd and uncomfortable things I noticed: another child’s memorial, two hours of screaming (yes, screaming), “Back the fuck up!” outside of my window, empty bar at 7:00 p.m. on a Tuesday, packed bar at 7:30 p.m. on Tuesday, and a “dive” cupcake shop.
Anyways, things could always be worse.
Fear what is it but a promise made
In the dead of night forgotten by the waking eye
Fear is confusion and disillusion,
Failure is from within.
Today my mom’s neighbor called my house & my girl picked the phone up & it was a disaster. She thought I was banging her. She started taloose it accusing me of cheating, let me mention that my mom’s neighbor is 77 yrs old, wat da fuck. Either I’ve gone mad or my girl is on some heavy medication.
7:52 pm. I’m making analogies between the Toronto Blue Jays and the wildings/King-beyond-the-wall from Game of Thrones. I’m doing this as I’m taking a break from writing an article about salmon fishing and hamburgers in Alaska. Now it’s 7:54 that’s a moment in time for you.
Give me your teeth so I can plant them in my skin (“And that’s the shaft of it, Memoirs of a Merckle.”)
I just want to know where you get a NERF GUN ‘cuz all I want is 1 MORE SHOT.
Look, Look, Lands Of Golden Honey Await
Lessons of the Week:
A ginger gains a freckle for every stolen sole [sic]…
Jesus is just a Spanish boy’s name.