cristinalooksatthings

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this flower’s a weed

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Cressida Campbell

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approximately

4 minutes into my 6 hour and 47 min flight, I ate all my plane snacks

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FAUSTINE STEINMETZ F/W 2013 LOOKBOOK

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Not Only the Fire -by Pablo Neruda

Ah yes, I remember, ah your closed eyes as if filled from within with black light, your whole body like an open hand, like a white cluster from the moon, and the ecstasy, when a lightningbolt kills us, when a dagger wounds us in the roots, and a light strikes our hair, and when again we gradually return to life, as if we emerged from the ocean. as if we emerged from the ocean, as if from the shipwreck we return wounded among the stones and the red seaweed. But there are other memories, not only flowers from the fire but little sprouts that suddenly appear when I go on trains or in the streets. I see you washing my handkerchiefs, hanging at the window my worn-out socks, your figure on which everything, all pleasure like a flare-up fell without destroying you, again, little wife of every day, again a human being, humbly human, proudly poor, as you have to be in order to be not the swift rose that love's ash dissolves but all of life, all of life with soaps and needles with the smell that I love of the kitchen perhaps we shall not have and in which your hand among the fried potatoes and your mouth singing in the winter until the roast arrives would be for me the permanence of happiness on earth. Ah my life, it is not only the fire that burns between us but all of life, the simple story, the simple love of a woman and a man like everyone.

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Nan Goldin Greer and Robert on the bed 

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1st Ave & 7th St- small asian men

So on my way home I spotted this self defense class poster: SELF DEFENSE FOR WOMEN. On it, is a woman putting a small asian man in a headlock. Assuming this was staged, I thought about a couple recent comments I heard about women not being scared at all of small asian men. I don’t recall verbatim, but they were something along the lines of, “I would’ve been scared if he wasn’t a small asian man...” to which her gal pals responded in unison with a sigh of relief so strong it could tuck their front bangs back behind their ears, “Thank god.”

As I’m looking at the poster I’m thinking about these girls putting a small asian man in a headlock, or them putting anyone in a headlock for that matter. How un-scared can they be? Do they know how to throw a punch or wield a knife? What if these small asian men are highly skilled in the martial arts, or jiu jitsu? Men who master this can often-times be very nimble and swift. 

The contrary to this argument, is that maybe these women could disarm these men! Maybe, when they are potentially attacked by small aggressive asian men, these women signal a lack of fear that dismantles the altercation altogether. The well-equipped man is thrown off-- I have trained for this, to physically contort her into positions from which she cannot escape. 

Shit now I’m laughing. 

I was seeing this asian guy for a bit and he made rugs on the side of his tech job. I dated him at a time when I didn’t have a rug in my room. To clarify, I still don’t have a rug in my room, but at that time it was something highly desired. I wanted one to scuff the dirt from my feet before I entered my fre$h. white. linens.

I was trying to hang around and see where “this” could all go, entirely banking on a free rug. I even helped him decide between 17 shades of blue to match 15 shades of tan and 4 shades of grey, comprising of 1,020 different options altogether. He asked too many tough questions early on, like my “dating deal breakers” and was too observant of how “empathetic” I was in public. He also said “rub” in bed and that truly was the turning point. That, alongside the fact that rug production was having major delays and anytime he talked about “rug” I thought of “rub”. 

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blurb

I’m nervous to expose what is a very deep feeling that I have for you. 

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I’ve been logged out of Tumblr for a bit...

but now I’m high right now and somehow I figured out my password on the first try. 

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NYC

On the plane back to NYC there was this guy in his 20s next to me in hot pink leggings, a green beanie, and multi-colored fingernails (painted of course, not naturally occurring). His hair was bleached and he was a bit greasy. 

Now that I’ve painted the pic...

You know when you’re falling asleep on planes and your head kinda shifts forward cause you’re sitting upright and awaken in a jolt? Well the entire 3.5 hour plane ride, he was nodding off so hard in intervals of 30 second jolts. 

It almost looked like he was head banging to a beat. 

You would think he’d adjust his sleeping position to avoid this... I mean it can’t look comfy or good for long-term neck agility.

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The eye never has enough of seeing

Jim Phillips from King Solomon

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FIGHT CLUB

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no se

I tend to notice little patterns in the day. Little things like people wearing the same t-shirt on opposite street corners or different tables ordering the exact same complicated food order at different tables and times of day. (Which I like to blame that on the weather, but that’s a story for another day). But those lil’ babies are coincidences

Then there are extra-coincidences. Por ejemplo, a year ago today I was working at an ecolodge called Bahia Bustamente and found out I would be going to the island along the Andes in a week. All I had to do was take the bus to meet the rest of the group.  

The week passed and I said my goodbyes. I was driven to the bus stop by a hot old Argentinian man named Juan who looked kinda like Einstein. Juan was my boss’s best friend. He had it all! Great vibes and an amazing dog named Sombra. 

He dropped me off on the side of the road outside the gas station for the bus, and drove off!

I wait...

1 hour passes

fucking freezing outside. No bus. 

1.5 hours pass

Nothing... I’m pissed and humming tunes to distract myself from the cold. 

2 hours pass

It’s Argentina, yeah, things run slowly, but this ain’t right.

So I go inside and the guys who work at the gas station were laughing. Yeah, we noticed you’ve been waiting. I think the bus never stopped at the gas station today. 

Anyways, the guys at the counter call bossman from Bahia Bustamante to pick me up. They got a new delivery of candy bars in the shop while I was waiting, so I helped organize them while I waited. They gave me some coffee and cooked me up dinner. It was all very bizarre. One of Argentina’s most famous reggae musicians of all time, Fidel Nada stopped in to get gas and food too. I can’t explain how middle of nowhere this gas station is. 

5 hours later and I’m back at Bahia Bustamante. Keep in mind this is also after already having an intense going away party w tears and speeches and cake and smuggled contraband.

The next morning, I woke up thinking I would give myself one more chance to go to the island, but if it didn’t work out, then ok maybe it’s not for me. 

I walk down the street and met a group of fishermen who are stopping at the lodge for the night. They’re headed to the exact city I need to be in the morning! Perfect. I spent the day picking weeds and making bread in the kitchen. I spent one more night with my peeps. 

The next morning after I packed up my stuff, and walked over to the fishermen, they were gone! Alright alright, done. I’m not going. Done. 

But (and finally the meat of the story)

As I was about to walk back to my room and figure where to travel to next, I see Juan and Sombra. He tells me that he’ll take me, since the town is right by his next fishing spot.

As I hop in the car, it feels well aged. It’s got a tangible amount of character to it. You couldn’t make that shit up. There’s mud on the tires. The front is full of  maps and stickers. It also has loads of camping gear and fishing rods. A real Jack Kerouac car. Keep in mind, this guy sails through life-threatening thunderstorms wearing a grin from ear to ear. 

We started driving and he tells me he’s a widower to a woman named Cici actually. I knew this by word of mouth from the people I worked with at Bahia Bustamante, but I didn’t know he would address it. He told me about the first time he met her: They were at a rock concert and she was dancing without a care in the world and he pointed at her thinking yup that’s the girl. And how they spent the rest of their time together going on adventures. 

I didn’t know what to say and eventually pulled out a book I borrowed about flowers. He asked me if I like flowers, which truthfully I explain is a very new interest. I tell him about the yellow flowers that look like aliens before they bloom. He starts crying and tells me his Cici spread those along the property before she died and that she too was obsessed with flowers.  

As I sat in the front seat of his 4 wheel drive, he told me that I was the first woman to sit in his front seat since her passing. I was honored and he told me the honor was his. That I had a similar energy, same name, wore the same old clothes (this was during my travel times where I would exclusively wear my paint pants). He thought maybe this strange encounter would help him grieve. 

When he dropped me off, I felt bad. I was maybe a moment of some connection to a woman he had loved and lost. I didn’t know her, I didn’t know him. But after missing all those buses and rides, I think maybe I was supposed to meet him and hear their story. 

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Audre Lorde