Pot Roast, again

photo by Frank Petronio

I get really tired with my lack of people to rely on, befriend, trust and hang out with.


You'd think making awesome home made pot roast would be incentive to get people to come chill with me, but I suppose that my crazy behavior is more damaging than I realize.

I try hard to learn from Melody's behavior, try to imitate her... to be more like her. She is fun and hyper and crazy. She's never angry, short tempered or rude. Sometimes crass, she always has grace in it.

Fuck... One day I'll get it.

Don't be a crazy cunt, Meagan.

New York; tick-tock!

A breathed name
The world pinpointed
spark.

go..

Mysterious

A couple days ago, I was called "mysterious".
I've always wanted to be mysterious,
and I say to him, "Mysterious!? But I wear myself on my smeared all over my sleeve!"
He replies, "That's why you're mysterious.. I guess the more you know, the less you think you do."


alright. I'll take it.

The Good Twin Visits

Our entire life everyone we know has labled Melody the Good Twin and me the Evil Twin. We both embrace our titles with pride, although I think we both would agree that we are equally Good and Evil, it just so happens that I'm more crass. Honestly, I think Melody hates more people than I do, I'm just mean about it when it does happen. I'm sort (hot) tempered. And then we really took to our said roles and she went blonde and me black. The ditz and the goth.

She came to visit last weekend and we had a great time. I made pot roast which came out amaaazing. Thanks to Mr Graham for taking me to that amazing little restraunt around the corner from his house in Park Slope (where is it?) which gave me the idea for the extra special gravy with nutmeg in it. (I'm a pretty good cook (if I do say so myself..), specializing in what I like to call "gormet comfort food.")

We partied hard. Pictures to follow soon.

Life in general is looking up.

I've adapted the idea of "NOT MAKING PLANS" for anything. I don't know why I started, I've always been a spontanious person. Embracing myself.

Though I miss this Meagan, in the below picture, who was fairly nieve and innocent. I hung onto it as long as I can... but I am becoming a woman. A closed, dark mess. Oh well.

At least I can cook and fuck. Though I haven't tried doing both at the same time, though it's come close. I mean, lets be serious... what more could men really ask for in a woman? ;)

READ LIZ'S AMAZING POETRY!

Liz, my roommate and new awesomeness in my life, is a great writer. I read this poem she wrote and cried. Enjoy.

Here is one that I love, titled,

"Untitled, Twice"

My heart and soul remain in deep conflict now
half of me desperate for stability, for
anything to count on ever.
Knowing full well that nothing
will ever be the same again.

Do you:
give in
straighten up
consolidate your debt
very low interest!
easy monthly installments!
Do you:
trade in your rust box and
sign a lease for Something Shiny?
Pay Your Bills When They Arrive.
Brush Your Teeth With Bleach.
Or do you:
GET OUT NOW.
pack your shit up for your landlord and
throw yourself to the curb.
leave your dog at your boyfriend's with
that spare key he gave you on her collar.

TAKE OFF.
hit the road running
head south and
start a fire without matches.
Build that bungalow with a sod floor and
sleep in hammocks wrapped in
the heavy scent of magnolia.
Roast persimmons with light bulbs
and smear that juice,
that red orange of liberation will just slide down your throat
Like You've Always Dreamed Of, and

no man will ever swing his cock at you
again.
Willl never make you suck your yeast infection
from his foreskin.
Will Never Hurt You.

You will sleep naked,
with no fear of violation.
There is a woods out there where
you can start over.


written by mis Lizzy Boness

Goal

Please let my passion for photography not be misplaced,
Please let me be as great as Ellen Von Unwerth...

Roaring Jeeps

Jeeps are taking over my life. And appropriately. Anyone with a fucking jeep is cool, I swear to god.

But that's really besides the point (other than the fact that four wheeling is absolutely amazingly fucking fun). The real point is that:

Tonight there's a meteor shower. Amazing!

I could not be more excited.
I'm setting an alarm for 4:15 and I pity those who are in big cities and are missing out on such adventurous marvels.

And of course, I'm bringing my awesome Rolleiflex.

eek!

Hot Mess

I've been cleaning all day. I should say, "cleaning". What I've really been doing is thinking about cleaning and actually not doing a lot of it. But I terribly enjoy having days like this. I've eaten wings and watched The Secretary and Pans Labyrinth, both of which I've watched like a trillion times and both I love love love. Like top five love. Others would be Children of Men, V for Vendetta and The Night Porter.

They all have two things in common: Rebellion and Love. God, now there's me in a nutshell. But they all are something different, too. Embracing yourself, dreaming, freedom, goodness, evil, justice, power, BDSM. Or maybe they all include all of those things. I dunno, what do you think?

If you've never seen one or all of these movies, I highly recommend them. Pan's Labyrinth is in Spanish, The Night Porter is in French. If you don't like movies with subtitles, get the fuck outa here, loser.

Anyway. Kitten cuddling (we named him Bowie, because I thought it was a girl, but alas, those are balls..) and laundry and dishes and general picking up. Putting away clothes

I have the most intense (mostly vintage) wardrobe. I have like twenty nightgowns. Hundreds of dresses. I have this obsession with being as womanly as I can in some ways. Night gowns, making breakfast, cleaning. I did my roommates laundry for her, and while some people argue that there are people who just do things in order to be nice, having no desire to get something back, I think that's bullshit. Because if nothing else, you're like me, and want love and approval. Often that's the only way I get a lot of cleaning and shit done.. I hold in my head my non existent lover's acceptance and approval of everything I'm doing for said non existent lover. I wash dishes, sweep, mop, do laundry, put away clothes, clean.. in love with them, for this person. It's like practice for when I finally get to have someone to rely on and love me. Dammit, I'm such a romantic. An angry spitting spiteful bitchy romantic.

Otherwise I'm a lazy shit.

That besides the point, I have like a million rolls of film I'm dying to develop. I have no idea what's even on them. Nakedness, sex, beauty, drunk, men, women, bars. My life in photos.

Which reminds me.. I thinki I might be the only one who desperately hates people looking through my binders of negatives. That's my life, it's like a journal. There is all sorts of shit in there I don't want people to see. Mistakes, private things, etc. It causes me terrible anxiety when someone starts flipping through one of these massive binders. It's like get the fuck off my shit maaan. It's caught me off guard before and I'm like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" no no no, you can't do that.

And I wonder why everyone in my college didn't like me. I came off as such a bitch, but really I was REALLY into photography, unlike all of them. I live it, I breathe it. Everything is a potential picture and I've been collecting cameras since I was a child, for Christ sake.

So many people just pick up a camera and figure they can MAKE it. But it'd be like me picking up a paint brush and trying to become a famous painter when all I can draw is stick figures. I mean, I get it, it's easy, you push a button and the digital shit does everything for you. You fuck around a bit in photoshop. Easy peasy... NOT. Where's that angle, depth of field, intense look in her eye, good hair and clothes and makeup?

I tell people I take pictures (cause I'm uncomfortable calling myself a photographer.. or I say "I do photography") and they want to compair notes. I tell people I'm a model and they're impressed. I'm not a fucking model, I'm a hot photographer.

end of story.




bah, embrace the modelographer.

The Road To Success

I can't stop watching the Travel Channel. I can't stop wanting to meet and photograph locals everywhere, anywhere! I keep telling myself to start here, in Syracuse.. fucking armpit of new york state. Kill me now, I need adventure! How am I going to get out of here, how will I survive? My saving grace is my new friend Liz who is just as fucking crazy as I am and I fucking love her. She drinks, fucks, cuddles, randomizes, knows what she wants and is funny as shit. I laugh and am comfortable and MYSELF around her and it's glorious. I am lost and chaotic! And she is okay with it. Nice!

I feel like if I could take her, Shakti and Sarah with me on a long road trip, it would be pretty awesome. They are all intense and crazy.

I could talk to everyone and anyone and be on top of the world. What? I am on top of the world. I am under a rock, stuck and squirming but I'm on top of the fucking world. The world is my oyster? I'm a shark, I'm a ghost, a gold fish! I'll try anything once and let you watch me exploit myself. I'll be louder and crazier than you which will make you look awesome. This whirlwind will love you unquestionably, will bring fire, fight the biggest asshole. I'll cause second hand embarrassment and flash you to find glee in your awkwardness and arrousal. I'll apologize for being too drunk and angry and then do it again. I'll molest you and sleep alone. I'll pop birth control and be celibate. I'll fuck you AND your boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever. I am nonjudgmental except for snobs and then I might spit in your face and loose the fight that ensues. I'll laugh at myself. I'll kiss you and ditch you. I'll sit naked at a bar in the middle of the night in the middle of the week, sober. I'll get smashed and put my clothes back on. I am an attention whore. I am an exibitionest. I say things I don't mean. I am a gypsy. I am a photographer. I am honesty, a lover, contradicting, hypocritical, gay. I am fucked. I am your orgasm. I hate you. I don't care. I care. I am comfortable.

I'll make you breakfast in heals and panties, then chain smoke in front of your family.

Them chains, they're 'bout to drag me down..

So I got arrested.


Are you surprised?
(didn't think so)


I seem to have a run with shitty landlords. And then an even bigger sausage-head fat-ass short little Napoleon brunt who probably got kicked out of highschool football and decided to be the biggest asshole in his fraternity.

I mean, yeah, I'm talking about the cop the landlord brought on Saturday morning. The first of the month. I'm such an idiot for thinking casually. That last day means the line between 19 hours of locked up four wall freezing no-rights torture. Miranda rights are apparently optional..

"People should not be afraid of their governments, Governments should be afraid of their People."

Fuck, man. I'm starting to really believe that people are innately evil, whereas I've always believed the opposite. This whole thought of, "nice guys finish last" is terribly true, I'm realizing. HOWEVER that doesn't give you right to be a dick about it, letting it make you evil, too. Which, I suppose, goes against what I just said about innately evil.

It's a confusing thought that I've struggled with,
that linked to the idea of Nature vs Nurture
(which, I suppose, is the same).

I really think all of this (the hate against a group (any group)) is some American Dream mindset gone completely sour. Everyone's better than everyone else. Many people (most?) judge you upon meeting you. The worst of them are the chivalrous-less brainless power-by-force types that squash others on their scramble to be bigger and better than YOU. I keep saying it, but what happened to manners and a sense of community?



Don't ask me what happened, just listen to the grape vine.
I know you're all waiting for some juicy gossip.

I"M PART OF A REALLY AMAZING BOOK, MMKAY?!

So I've been sitting here smoking cigarettes and sipping on the same Stella for about two hours while catching up on my internet life and wondering why the fuck I'm still awake after busting my ass moving... when I decide to click the link on Sanders' Model Mayhem page to the url where you can buy his newly published book.

In the email he sent me he says "it's not cheep", so I'm driven to wonder how much it is... Well, I was expecting $100+ but it's *only* $70 and I'm sofuckingready to drop it as soon as I have it because it is, well, astounding. Every single picture does exactly what the title says it does: tell a whole sort of story in the simplest ways... naked. Each photo is a beautiful capture of pure personality. I was forced to look through page after page, from beginning to end, to see what was next, to see what Sanders got out of all these girls.

Insanity, I tell you!

How does one person shoot so many people and get them so in their own skin over and over??

It's terribly inspiring and I fucking need it.


Double Exposures: Essays in Portriature by Sanders McNew



And I'm absolutely terrified that I don't belong in this collection, yet there I am. The above photo you can find littering one of the pages of this killer book.


eeeeek!

Homeless

As of tomorrow I am sorrrtaaa kindaaaa homeless.
I mean, I always have my grandmother's and that IS where I hauled all my shit today.
Three car loads and a cargo van full.
Mostly all by myself.
And while this partly extremely frustrating.. It's also very empowering.
I packed, carried, lifted, struggled, sweat (a LOT)
Over and over and over and over
up stairs and down stairs and up and down and up and down..
I had help with the dressers and desk.
And by the end of it, I am exhausted.
And free.
I am fucking free.
Free free free FUCKING FREE!!

I have no home, no money, my car is falling apart, my computer is not far behind, my baby kitty Pan disappeared ( ;( ), I chopped my hair, I got rid of half my shit(uhm, again..), I have no reliable friends, zero love interest, no sex drive, no plan, no fucking obligation or expectation!

So fuck you, too!


And I love you. :)

(but not you... and sorta you... definitely not you... maybe you... but you, you, you and you? yes.)


What?


stfu.

Random Facts 1-5

1. I believe in love at first sight, yet I'm jaded as fuck
2. I shower with the lights off
3. I have a traveling bug that is insatiable
4. I drive without music all the time, and I think my lack of music is what makes me more fucked up and sad
5. I make great breakfasts, which is my favorite meal of the day

Sand Filled Wings

"Ask and you shall receive."

Well, I've been doing a lot of asking for strength and help. To better myself, to put myself on the right track, to know the way, to find happiness.

Or at least peace of mind.

I have the ever present ticking itch to travel, to move, to run away, to find what I'm looking for (whatever that might be). Purpose, I want purpose. Life is too short to be sitting around on my hands waiting for something to happen. There has to be a reason I was born with this traveling bug, a reason why I love taking pictures and I love beauty, new places, interesting and fucked up people and environments.

Please, life, give me purpose...
Don't let me stay useless, dead, and half buried by my surroundings.


Step one: Drink less, save more.

Princess Weekend

My Mother always declared, "It's my Birthday week... You have to be super nice to me two days before and two days after!" I quite like this theory, and I stick by it. Like Mother like Daughter. (Scary!) So, it is two days before my birthday. Tonight, I work at Half Penny, a "hole in the wall" Irish style bar in down town Syracuse. Which I like working at a lot... Lots of interesting people. Mostly punks, goths, bikers and other degenerates. Perfect.

Unfortunately, I fear this birthday. I fear no one showing up- some solid decloration that I've gone so nuts that no one wants to celebrate with me. Scaring people away and burning bridges comes fairly naturally to me.. and while I love to declare I Don't Care, I really do, and it's quite annoying, actually.

But Holly and Rachael and Pete will be there. They are my best friends, and I cannot have a bad time with any of them, let alone all together!

Quality over Quantity, Meagan. Plow ahead!

Good BYYYE twenty-two. I like odd numbers better, anyway.

Men.

I've been prying myself from days in my bed and alternately denying myself sleep or food just to feel more alive (or, in fact, punishment), writing in my journal all night as if one day someone may read it and find it interesting (where does getting wasted fit in?). Or, better yet, that I may look back and feel my life amounted to something, that my suffering wasn't in vain(ity?). Goodness in truth. Art fag. And, currently, all I feel is utter loneliness, that I try hard to cover up (maybe.), hoping that my smile might attract some sane faces. Or perhaps everyone can smell the Crazy Bitch on me; can sense with some tendril of Knowledge that I am, indeed, one of the most self destructive people you will ever meet. Consumed. If I love you, I hate you, and nothing's ever good enough, particularly me- me, so full of faults and anger and conviction. Stumbling conviction. Solid anger. A Mess. The never ending flow of faults, faults, faults. So much chaos and confusion that all I want to do is rage and destroy - before, in fact... You do; Whoever. I will hurt you first, I will leave you first, I will show you with false pride the chink in my armor, the battle wounds, my Achilles' heel and God knows I'll show you my heart on my sleeve (even if you're so dizzy from my spinning circles); forever gushing gore. Spitting in the face of Man. Oh, Man, who I adore and search after for too much approval. Never enough. Here! Eat my sin and know insanity. Prove to me (again!) that you are not strong enough to yield me while I craze about with poison and daggers and hate. Fuck you, you 'men'. Your drool and your talk and your indecisive. Fuck you for not buying me dinner, not holding my hand or showing me strength. Fuck you for being little boys, for having no manners or worse - no sensitivity for the annoyingly delicate female emotional stability. Fuck you for telling me obsessed is some sort of a weakness, as if there's not (some?) greatness in one who will never back down, give up or turn their back. Fuck you and your useless penis, gangly stumbling hands and wandering eye.

Beautiful (stupid!) Man..

Fuck you for torturing me in my own masochism. For all I can do is adore you for causing me so much pain.

(Blog n. : Satisfaction in exploitation.)

A Gypsy Life

the Wren
June 10 - July 7
The wren Celtic animal sign is associated with freshness, and opening to new insights, and sunnier dispositions. They are natural care givers and will sign sweet melodies to cheer their friends and family. They remain calm in the midst of stormy weather. You want to have these people with you if you find yourself in a crisis; they are resourceful and stay cool under pressure. Wrens are self-motivated (they know how to get what they want) and work best in solo situations. They are also have a high sense of responsibility and moral integrity. They seek balance in their lives by being leaders at work on in the community, but secretly they would rather be traveling abroad living a life of a gypsy (this however, is often against their better judgment).
(whats-your-sign.com)

I will not make that mistake. I live a fucking gypsy life.

I See Evil

I see evil in me.

All my life I've been the "Evil Twin" and it has a just place as a title for me. There is anger in me that is on constant simmer, waiting for a spark of more heat to fuel a raging destructive path. I daydream about torturing girls that tick against said bomb and have flash fantasies of doing generally destructive and hurtful things. I snap at the smallest annoyance - although I only do this to people who are closest to me (mostly boy-friends). Biting my tongue is something I've tried to learn, but it's so hard! My brain to mouth function lacks grace and has been the downfall of all my relationships with everyone. I see red. I shake with fury.

I'm glad I'm a woman.

However, somehow, I'm told I'm sweet. I'm kind. I'm a good person.

Sometimes I wonder if my kindness is only my inner Beast plotting an easier way of living. I can't decide if I care too much or too little. I am conscious of everything I do. How I look and act, my meanness and my sweetness. Conscious chaos. Conscious disaster. Reckless calculating.

I see Evil in me.

Melody

Almost every frame I took of this set is great. We finally were on the same page, I saw it on her face when I got excited how it encouraged her to keep going. I haven't let her open up to me photographically.. I guess because I expect it not to be an issue. It made me feel really really good when she told me that she loves the pictures, that she feels like these are pictures that show her personality, who she is.

Great success!

Yay.