People Living Deeply Have No Fear of Death

This is a photo-post, obviously. I've been doing some writing but not of the blogging kind. The following events are out-of-sequence and of equal or relatively equal importance. The end of the story finds me faced with the option to call 911 but there aren't any photos of that. We'll begin with a table full of all the things that keep us "active", "involved" and "in-touch" in today's world (this is the electron-shit accumulation of only 5 people and still a phone and camera are missing):

On Friday I lost my mind. Well, I began to explore the options available to one who might be "losing their mind". Awoke in Teddy's lovely apt., took an hour long bath and caught up with my Venice beach bestie, watched season 3 of Seinfeld and the rest of Almost Famous then forced myself to leave the safety of a white-wall'd apartment for Manahatta island. Fatima and I attended an awesome reading at the New Museum where alcohol chocolates, stories of unrequited love and tales of first masturbation experiences went well with an audience swathed in the standard black of publishers. We got to stare at the back of Richard Hell's skull and I was eye-fucked by an actor whose face I recognized but whose name escapes me. This is my self-portrait while self-diagnosing (the leaves are to recall a Lucian Freud painting):

I left the apartment in Teddy's Prada heals: the most bomb shoes to grace my feet maybe ever. About ten minutes out the door and headed toward the subway I was the epitome of two things: cheap & chic (my 25 cent coat had been returned after a San Francisco vacation) and a teetering example of "no pain no gain" in regards to high fashion. I felt like I was a victim of suede foot-binding:
I love Teddy. We've had our ups and downs but shit if the good don't stick:
It's relatively easy and acceptable for attractive people to make ugly faces. Can you believe these two people are named Ted and Teddy? Have you ever gone to dinner at Caracas with friends with such strange and similar names?
Have you ever loved a sauce so much you were reduced to abandoning social etiquette in favor of physically espousing Freudian hypotheses (the Freuds are ruling my post)?:
I didn't get a shot of Tiffanie but this one night she made me the goddamn best chicken tacos I've had to date. We shared a pot brownie and agonized over a text message she was overdo on sending:
The view from Rachel's financial district apt. Sitting on the deck of such a posh apt. building and gazing on one of the monuments to economic stability in a time like this (I love saying "this harsh wintry economic climate") wasn't surreal but it was something:
From the Paper Tiger party; I was just happy with Jenny's make-up application. It's like football player in the electro hyper-super bowl 2k78. I was also surprised to find that dearest Barbara is married and has been keeping it from us all this time! This is the face I must make when I hear unexpected news:
Just more good times like we do:
Pre-embarking on a night of social unrest. I have two commissions to do murals based off of this piece, score:
I don't ask much from former one-two-three night-stands except to get an address for the diner we once went to post-coitus. Regardless, I found that shit in t-minus and ate like I owned the place. After leaving, I caught a glimpse of how I accessorize on a Sunday:
Kyla and Barbara, just wait for it. These two will own the world before you figure out how to properly bite into an everything bagel (hint: keep the seeded side on the bottom so you don't scratch the roof of your mouth):
I'd die for you lady:
I have always loved the meta quality of a picture within a picture within...:Here Nicholas attempts to show pre and post eye surgery:
I made the awesome mistake of passing out with my facebook acct. open. Duder who is cause of much happiness and distress went ahead and changed my status to "in a relationship" (decidedly not true). Thank you to all who called (from San Fran, from South America, from down the street) and wall-texted; alas, not every idea I throw into the universe returns to me fulfilled but I've had the luxury to learn that most times, it's for the better. Jerks and teddy bears and plane tickets and the amount of lives you get to live within the single one you sometimes lose grip on, these are the puzzle pieces that make things endlessly fascinating and heart-wrenching. These little moments sound like the orchestra tuning as they gear up to barrage you with the symphony, the real whole. Even so, like growing accustomed to darkness in a daytime matinee, immersed in beautifully suspended disbelief, hitting the sidewalk as the sun slaps you into submission can still be as shocking as birth. You're discombobulated but you asked for it and most times still love it. At least I do.