6 people, stylish cloths, 1 bottle of vodka, 30 beers, 20 spicy chocolate cookies, 2 liters of egg nog, a huge chicken broccoli casserole, 15 turkey meat bolls, 3 pounds of roast potatoes, a half a pound of ginger haricots verts, a half a pound of marinated mushrooms, one bowl of mixed baby greens, 20 brownies, 3 pounds of rice a la malta, 12 saffron rolls, a half red velvet cake with black berries, 8 red velvet cake muffins, 1 ginger bread Christmas tree, 1 pound of chocolate, three pitchers of coffee, 1 double bottle of white wine, 5 scandales photo shoots and a lot of butt shaking to bad tecno music and endless Christmas hits. Is what we call a Merry Christmas at Loft 910

DR. WINGLETON IS HERE TO HELP YOU.



(photo/hair/makeup by the lovely Jillian Halouska)

From Inhabitat.com:

"Since the BP oil well explosion nearly five months ago (only being officially sealed days ago), media coverage of the disaster has repeatedly shown us hazy images of a gushing wellhead underwater, skimmer ships floating along the stained Gulf waters and stretches of sand-filled barricades attempting to protect hundreds of miles of beaches. Even though this picture has been delivered with searing accuracy, what hasn’t been depicted is the incredible damage that has been inflicted onto both the local ecology and the population of the Gulf’s fishing industries. Now a new beautiful and disarming art exhibit hopes to convey a deeper and more textured view of communities in the Gulf Coast, particularly as compared to what has thus far been portrayed in the media. Mired in the Bayou is an art project and upcoming exhibit in NYC which focuses on the struggles of Alabama’s seafood capital Bayou La Batre and its community’s battle to overcome the effects of an oil spill that has managed to pit once proud compatriots against one another for BP’s “free” money.

In light of this turmoil, Michael De Pasquale, Reed Young and Erin Sheehy traveled to the small fishing community of Bayou La Batre in July of 2010 to document the effects of the disaster. With their project Mired in the Bayou the trio chronicle the lives of ten unique individuals residing in Bayou La Batre, each of whom have been affected by the spill. But rather than unveiling the narrative of a single tragedy, the trio explores a complete community dynamic burdened by repeated catastrophe. Through a distinct three-person perspective, Mired in the Bayou blends the artists’ divergent styles to create a singular portraiture project consisting of twenty photographs and accompanying text and audio. From their efforts arises an arresting juxtaposition of images and text fragments that, as a whole, are able to creating a much more unlikely and much more complete portrait of the lives affected by the BP oil spill."

Read more at Inhabitat

COME AND PARTY WITH US!

wing after the art show open, later to be found

lying on the floor rapped up in black fabric listing to maziy star

daf punk fixed him right up

FLUX: An Art Show from Jonathan Wing on Vimeo.

FLUX. Loft 910 closes the summer with a brand new multimedia exhibition featuring the work of resident loft members and their friends. Sited in the 910 Gallery space, each participating artist will display his or her work as it relates to the theme of FLUX. An idea wide open to interpretation in any context, this show parallels the sentiment maintaining no constraints with respect to concept, production or presentation – boundaries will exist only in the form of an individual's creativity and thought.

The Gallery Space will open on September 17th with a small gathering, and end on the 25th with a closing party. During the week everyone is invited to come to visit the loft and view the artwork on display. 

Opening: Friday, September 17th 6pm-10pm

Gallery Hours: Saturday September 18th -Friday September 24th 6-8 pm

Closing Party: Saturday the 25th at 11 pm

Directions: G to Bedford-Nostrand (exit on Bedford and walk three blocks with the traffic)

Address: 910 Bedford Avenue 3rd fl buzzer # 3

Email: loft910@gmail.com

Sasha moved out. I am now reduced to this:

what would happen if peter pain got a day job and tinker bell turned in her wings

what would happen if hook and shark made up and sorted out there differences

what if wild things did not rome and the long shadows behind the trees were empty

what if the basement was bright and safe

what if the dead did not walk home in the early morning fog

what if there was no dreaming

Situational irony of life - you go jfk to drop someone who is close to you in the departures and then come around in the stream of taxi cabs, buses and town cars around to pick up someone who is close to you in the arrivals. You say goodbye and in a few minutes you say hello. Such an interaction of lifelines I find amusing.

Should I say something how my last girlfriend started dating someone like in two hours after breaking up with me... Anyway, Nik is in Wales, Mike is back. And hey, Joy moved out and Diane is here again (even though she doesn't like Seinfeld).

Ah, kids these days.

Sorry i can show you any real pictures for the story. It would loose it's street cred before it was even born. how sad that would be. we might just get stuck here and drown in a flood that would

be nice and ironic perhaps some one would find all the little pieces and put them back together or try not knowing the pieces were never meant to go together. i could only......suggesting to large crowds of sclors and novelists that there were missing pieces and a grand hunt would sweep the world eager minds researching and hunting for the missing pieces of something that never was. Rebirth it would be grand hope fully, someone would figure it out and never say a word, they would see the...... in mystery the cerous mind is an inventive one and a relentless one.

just get it done never mind

reed blab'er farting around

and the 5 armed detectives

who mind you were very chill

none the less

the end is close but the finish line is farther away.

In the back of a house on a slab where a house

was at one time pounded in to the sand dropped

tossed flung hurled placed lied Begin to grow

collected obscure items some where

thats no where because they have no place to be

except where they are at that moment.

some behind the seines photos

the mayor

me passed out with jimmy and tippy

just the facts

The worst idea ever yep we did it

hunting for trash i mean truth

he was wearing a white t shirt and converse

by god i have it

reed at he brink of disaster as per usual

were gona ride i like a pony

so you are using front impellers?

no, no ammonia in your cooling solution?

This is My Brooklyn.

Something I imagine a post-apocalyptic society might look like, so I'm well prepared.

Highways the man's navigation power line, in to the belly

of the storm, on the path the right direction

the red thread, a tangled mess hypithical,

in the air 3200 feet above sea level traveling

at 500 mph. Fact 30 feet thick and mile wide, deep

below unseen disaster wright in front of your eyes

it's not them it's us, all of us running gasping

for air with flabby skin and glazed over eyes

moth pigs getting force fed prepackaged life till our intestine burst

ready to help stitching the bloody pus mess back in to working

consumption order.

I become my surroundings as they become me. Nothing

is for ever, but like a star in the far reaches

of the galaxy memory will shine on long after i am gone,

for the future to see un till the last of me fades in to

the indiscernible tones and waves of energy scattering

through out daily life, a whisper in the wind a glint in a

eye the caw of a crow.

and in this we i will live for ever but never stop

dying

On the road between mobile & bayou le batre the

highway is packed there are accidents

all most every day trucks and cars flipped over

contents scattered across the tarmac, recklessness

permeates the air, armadillos and dog carcasses left

to there long decomposition in the scorching

sun. lost my intreats in this rant

empty fishing pears and a long stretch of bridge

I try to ride my bike as often as possible, but certain circumstances call for the subway. Somedays I spend entire days underground. Waiting. Transfers. More waiting. Delays. Pushy people, slow walkers, complete stoppers, beggars, crazies, hoods, suits, religious talkers. The smell of urine, fish, trash. An old man stares at me. A gay man eye-fucks me. Loud school kids giggle, complain, gossip. Lovers embrace, kiss non-stop. Babies cry. A man reads the newspaper his neighbor holds. Bad music issues loudly from headphones. Faces hide behind smartphones, books, games. A fat man yells about how women ain't no good. Nobody cares.

Five o'clock— Penn Station: madhouse. 34th Street: tourist infestation. Walking up and down the same stairs all day. Losing metrocards. Standing on a platform, pacing and hot. A twenty minute wait. The train is full, every single car. One giant people sandwich. Faces angry, bored, stressed, tired, sad, fidgety. It's a lovely summer day yet there is profound silence beneath the ground, where the only sound uttered is from the trains themselves.

Then a group of three young Jamaican men play a tune for the car on a set of congas. It is a solid groove, passionately committed. People smile again. They tap their feet. Applaud, drop money into a hat. Soon, the smiles fade. Back to home, back to sleep.

My bicycle beckons.

From the archives. Mike steams a shirt all sexy like.

another great adventure with delta.

form the road side of I 10, junk left behind by

locals swimming in a murky river attempting

to escape the heat

A violent rain storm from the hotel balcony lasting 20

min before the sun returned

reed in full swing 8:30 am

me in full swing 2:30 am

Family vacation