peanuts

while waiting for the bus today i overheard a man tell his son, "estamos en guerra" which means 'we are at war' in Spanish. his tone was conversational and informative. 

the little boy had on a hilarious beanie resembling a roasted turkey. two little wings sat on top like backwards ears

and large turkey legs kept his ears warm, little white bones poking down next to his cheeks. he wore one of our nation's great symbols on his head. like a ball cap with an american flag on the front.

it touched my heart to listen to the boy, perhaps not born in the USA, fearlessly ask his father who was fighting the war and why.  i felt inspired. like maybe life doesn't have to be so difficult? or more like the problems of life don't have to be scary. 

anais nin <3

caresse crosby  

one world flag flew over castle in italy

create ideas to lead the world to peace and sanity 

national unit outmoded, politician can lead us no where

need men of ideas and compassion 

"In their minds, whether explicitly or implicitly, America is white, Christian, straight and male-dominated. If you support Trump, you are on some level supporting his bigotry and racism. You don’t get to have a puppy and not pick up the poop."

Straightforward look at why Donald Trump has gained so much momentum in this campaign. Every day I see more white men with baby strollers walking to the park to mingle with immigrant nannies. Doing laundry at the laundromat in the middle of the day. Nurturing their sons when they get slammed by a closing door. On the flip side women are wearing masculine clothing. Controlling what happens in the bedroom. Creating the content on the youtube channel catered towards "male" humor.

NO MORE OPPORTUNITY

ALL THE COFFEE IN THE WORLD IS GONE! HA HA

take their money and rip it up 

burn down a building and rebuild it 

name all the roads the same name 

we seem to talk about technology as if it’s ‘other’

it’s us. an amplification of our desire to connect, our desire to do more 

Little hairs stick to my face and neck as I tie up my mane on the sidewalk. It's hot. Concrete buildings, streets and tunnels simulate a convection oven. Every one of the few million people on Manhattan bakes inside of it. Lower East Side inhabitants compete with each other to see who will wear the least amount of clothing. Everywhere I look I'm assaulted by legs, ass and side boob. Comfortably admire it all, because everyone here is an exhibitionist. Everyone secretly smiles at any physical adoration. 

Many people have shown me their Tindr profiles. "This is my body shot," they'll swipe. "To show that I'm not a fatass." It seems to be the most important image. The face a blur, the eyes two unidentified specks. 

There's a tall, narrow building in the heart of Yangon known as the Whitehouse Hotel. It is constructed entirely of stone- stone walls, staircase, ceilings- and the rooms are modest with plain bedclothes. Initially it's difficult to find along the street because of the explosive foliage coming from about a hundred potted plants arranged on the sidewalk surrounding the big double doors. But once you know it's there the plants become friendly navigators. An old Japanese man sits in the lobby, a cool, windowless room with a skinny stone bench, and smiles at all who enter. He wears a longyi (man-skirt) with a white T-shirt that accentuates his belly. Each morning they serve breakfast on the roof which pokes out like a little crow's nest above the dense rooftops of the city. The sign reads, "Energy Station: Amazingly Huge Buffet Breakfast The Best in the World." The river flows on one side, and Shwedagon Pagoda gleams like a golden chess piece on the other. The owner of the hotel preaches about his "Buddha Power" medicine and hands out free samples along with a binder full of testimonials. Apparently this shit can cure everything. I giggle because the man resembles the typical Western portrayal of happy buddha- from his belly up to his jolly squint. Many of my nights in Yangon were spent hurrying home to get in the door before the 11pm curfew. Once I was late, and they still let me in. I loved the soft, cool stone and the imperial-era windows. However, one of my favorite things about the hotel I realized after I left Myanmar.