A couple of days ago, I tweeted “So, according to @wikileaks, @realDonaldTrump has no emails with evidence that he’s a psychotic #sexualpredator #fascist fucktard? Weird!” The next morning, there were responses from the Trump camp saying, “Trump doesn’t use email.” and “You don’t know how wikileaks works.” I immediately blocked those people and deleted the tweet. These Trump supporters did not protest, “He’s not a sexual predator!” or “He’s not a fascist fucktard!” They responded, “Trump doesn’t use email.” I cringed thinking these people knew my name. So, here is my letter imploring those who feel “I must vote my conscience,” or “I … Continue reading Don’t vote your conscience, vote your vagina.
Maybe it’s because my mother was born there or that it has such a huge Irish history, but I feel at home at Rockaway Beach. To me it’s the perfect mix of a rooted, working class community and surfers. Of old world class and grit with just enough places to get a good cup of coffee or a tasty beer. I love Rockaway. You have to pay to get on the beaches in Jersey, it acts as segregation against folks who don’t have a lot of income. But in Rockaway everyone is welcome. I planned on going to the beach on … Continue reading Rockaway Beach, Hurricane Hermine
Dec. 1, 2014 In 1997, I had my first session with a therapist. She regarded me with uncertainty, as though she wasn’t really sure what I was doing there. She looked at me as though we were acquaintances out to lunch and I was inappropriately dumping all my shit on her. “Aren’t you going to ask me some questions?” I asked her. “What do you think I should ask?” she asked back. Convinced by her underwhelmed response that I was only feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t seek therapy for another 2 years. It was right around 1999 that some … Continue reading The Tragedy of Comedy; Drugs and Depression.
In dreams I see myself flying… –Invisible Wounds (Dark Bodies), Fear Factory I know introducing a photo exhibit on Cuban metal with a Fear Factory song is strange. I know. I actually discovered Fear Factory in Havana after spending a month with Escape in 2007. And when I hear Fear Factory, I remember Alejandro Padron, the drummer of Escape, in a larger way, in a way that transcends any kind of sadness I … Continue reading Statement for Briant, Rockupation of City Hall, June 1, 2012
-Jan. 30th, 2011 “I have nothing for you,” said my doctor. “I’m not going to put you on addictive drugs at this point, and you’re already wired.” Last week, I finally admitted to myself that I have ADD. When I told my doctor, I could tell she wanted to say something quippy but then considered my feelings. Of course you have ADD, she seemed to say. Do you think everyone is like this? I was about 20 when the medical establishment first started discussing ADD. I always assumed it was a pretext for public schools to drug the children of … Continue reading You Don’t Have to Watch Dynasty
A documentary film maker records the present to present the past in the future. We are the Billy Pilgrims of film making. Our schizophrenia doesn’t become apparent until the editing process, if at all. When I set out to document Cuban heavy metal band Escape, I had every intention of approaching the film with the sterility of a German dental assistant. I wasn’t going to chug vodka with the band, for example. I certainly wasn’t going to sleep with anyone. I was going to love them from afar, like a sick relative in the hospital you don’t want to touch. … Continue reading And the Award Goes to…
A year later, and June is still rainy. I’m back in Jersey City. I’m still gainfully unemployed or almost kind of self employed, (half full in social circles, half empty to qualify me for state aid.) But, I can look back on the last year and know that I followed my passion, my dreams.I was documenting one of the greatest metal bands in Cuba, indeed, one of the greatest metal bands in the world. I was infused in heavy metal, I was making a documentary. I made several mistakes; foolish, immature mistakes. I didn’t have the best back up system … Continue reading Checking in at The End of the World or Happy Father’s Day