VIBE

The end of Vibe. I can't believe it.

I can remember Allison discussing the feel of its pages....it's time to make the follow-up ma cherie!

Why do I keep aging based on the late breaking news?

the gods gallantly gaze at gorgeous GONE

Peripheral punches pack my protective pulpit.

Try not to make sense; simply know what you are saying.

Problematic placement produces empty pictures promised in my pathway.

Wait.
Ah, you're still looking.

Provide protection. Or, prevent any privacy.

I can think for myself, but I can't see for myself?

Pleasant and productive, yet without proof.

Let me--force it.

Patient. Finally. Perfect.



Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children. - Sylvia Plath



melon sized zucchini from the garden

Lonely teardrops - Michael Jackson

PAF

Batteries abound. The setback has been replenished.

My first week at PAF has been a week of adjustment, snaking the proverbial clogged toilet on the homefront (i.e. Astoria, Queens), and plenty of scribbling in my notebook.



The expansive property of PAF is heartwarming. It is comforting to know that a place like this exists. OMNIVOROUS will open something like this. I think I step into a new room-almost daily- on my search for a place to work. Some days the space you worked in the previous day may be occupied, leaving you to move elsewhere. There is the possibility to purchase reserved studio space, but this really isn't necessary on such a large property.



And the peacocks were completely unexpected. Today it rained and one of the peacocks was hanging out in a back studio--staying dry. Yes, I am nervous around them.




I had the lights turned out on me on my first trip to Intermarche. I'd lost track of time and they were closing with or without me pour midi. Vonneke was trapped as well, but fortunately she brought the car and could carry my heavy things home. On my way back with the electric bicycle, I got lost. (Electric bikes are fantastic on hills!!!) I spaced out, as I tend to do, and continued in the wrong direction for quite some time...and kilometers. And all I wanted to do is eat. I turned around and returned to where I'd came and managed to find my way home. For a moment, my delirium from not yet eating convinced me that I wasn't going to make it back. When I did make it back, Vonneke had set my groceries on the counter, and a few people were munching on their own lunch having simple conversation...completely unaware of my absence.
I secretly liked this. Let me disappear, please.



A few people gather for group yoga in the morning, but I can be too pensive for that. In New York, I like taking classes with strangers--less responsibility towards shared reflection or comparison of postures. I am only being truthful. I can be terribly lonesome and require loads of meditation. Yoga allows me to "dust my shoulders" off and straighten UP. I've done about 45 minutes of yoga each day and it has allowed me to recollect hidden breath - personal ventilation. Today, I practiced in the room above with the decaying ceiling.






I did some work in this room, but I have moved on to allow for a pair to have optimal space.


Les Noirs is going really well. The door is OPEN and I've stepped in, falling in love with Genet more and more. I have a loose play outline and my research is coming along. Although, I am need of a dancer to choreograph "on". Maybe I will ask someone.

I have also returned to my freelancing circuit, something that had been on pause for the past two years as I took directing and teaching opportunities. I hope to have some work out there very soon...



'Til soon.

My PAF picasa album for your viewing pleasure.

PAF 2009

*I find myself in complete shock and a bit jarred by the news about Michael Jackson. It's all extremely bizarre. My mother was a huge fan, so much so, that neither my Dad or my sister and I could sit through one of his songs after her death-not until recently that is. I dreamt about her last night. It was strange to truly hear her voice. She was singing...or was I singing? But then, I woke up and read the Times headline. It never ceases to amaze me how life flows. As my sister said, "they must be getting down up there!"

Michael Jackson dead, at 50.

The New York Times, reports.
Despite speculation on his life and mental stability, I will humbly respond in his own words, "gone too soon."

L'Arrivee

After an adventurous 24 hour journey, I have arrived.

I spent only a few hours in Paris, essentially running around Le Gare du Nord, falling asleep leaning on telephone poles. Despite the lackadaisical photograph, it is still Paris--temporarily fleeting as I traveled three hours onward.
SUBLIME. I have forgotten how I love this city.

Now I am here in St. Erme at PAF, after waiting for my ride for an hour. I was forgotten, sadly. Not exactly an ominous indication of the residence, just more of a glimpse into the atmosphere of the house. Positive, communal, independent, productive-- "make things available to others" the website commands.



Nariman showed me my room, the bathroom, some studios, the media room, common areas and then left me to figure things out. On my own. Responsible and accountable for myself. My feelings standing here in my room for the next month, enforces that I haven't experienced that in quite awhile, even as a New Yorker. It's a testament to my high sensory city experiences of late.

Haven't I done this before? Don't I do this? Why do we expect things to be/feel the same? Repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat

I arrived right as the grocery store closed, so I was unable to get anything at that time. At around 8, I meandered downstairs, starving, desperate, and admittedly shy and introduced myself to those I hadn't met. Before I could ask for dinner they offered me some pasta from a large pot that had been made and Hannah gave me a nectarine. I am happy.

Last night, it was freezing as I fell asleep on my notebook. My suitcase was prepared for the temperature, but my body was not. I may need my dear Kristine to send me an extra sweater. As the sun managed to stay bright past 10 pm, I am reminded of long summer nights in the French countryside. Some of the other artists were down in the garden eating, but I was too delirious to socialize any further.



I slept about ten hours last night, only waking to run and tinkle with the nun ghosts of the convent. I don't think I have slept that well in awhile. There must have been "Hail Marys" being said over me.

This morning, the grounds keeper, helped me make my coffee even though I probably could have figured it out considering I served it for over a year. Eliminating my usual pride, I had fun letting him caffienate me on an empty stomach. He told me not to speak to him in English because he doesn't understand. Only a few people speak English, which is great for me. I need my French to be more conversational. I am practicing, practicing.

Intermarche, the grocery store, is about 4 kilometers away. I will be taking an electrical bicycle there. Voila! I love large European grocery stores--they're not as intimidating as American ones. The options are hilarious and it's like a scavenger hunt trying to figure what is what. It is best to come with a list and look for things that way. It closes at 1230 and reopens around 230, so I am going to try to go before it closes, otherwise I may pass out from starvation.

A bientot...
bises
e



Ah, yes, and I must add my neice making the "Cardwell face". This was taken about a week before I left. The reason why I write, my tiny inspiration.

Everything feels like its over--finished and unreliable--like I'm the only green being amidst deterioration. Loose ends fray causing more difficulty to reattach and negativity ripens allowing physical persecution to become closer than arm's reach.

Right on time.

Where do you live?

Eric Sheptock has a blog, Facebook page, and Twitter account, regularly providing a true glimpse at his life. He is homeless.

Inventive and opportunistic. Follow his blog, On the Clock with Eric Sheptock.

Totally TUBE-ular?

I don’t watch TV. I say this, in no attempt to negate anyone that does. Sincerely, I would watch if I could. My roommate and I never got hip to the HD necessity, so the thing hasn’t been clicked on in months and probably won’t be turned on by the June, something, deadline. It’s been great for my work. I write regularly and have been opening unread books on my shelf. Mostly starting several books and adding to my stack of the unfinished based on my current week of interest. I’ve also been rereading novels and poetry that have slipped through my fingertips from past immature experiences with them—high school, college.

God will not have His work made manifest in cowards. - Emerson

I rediscovered the Transcendentalists from my high school days—Thoreau and Emerson—and delighted in their current relevance as I reminisced.

In Don Delillo’s White Noise, Babette’s father says to Jack, “Is the television why everyone’s gone so stupid?”

I can certainly attribute it to my complacent past. As a disconnected high schooler desiring less accountability, yet somehow more responsibility (New York City!) , I would rush home from ballet class, plop my dinner plate on my pink tight lap and chomp down as I wept/laughed/ snarled dramatically at that evening’s slot of shows. To make matters worse, in college I would mercilessly and admittedly plan my class schedule around the TV Guide--thankfully, only when the classes had multiple time slots. I was self aware enough to not compromise requirements, enhancement, and good dialogue.

Medium message medium message medium message

summertime

My summer is beginning faster than the weather permits. Today is overcast and muggy, anticipating another storm. Around June 15th, I will be visiting my family in Baltimore before I return to Europe for two months. I'm looking forward to riding bikes, barbecuing, and hanging out with Heaven. After returning to New York, I fly to Paris--to write, take photos, and treasure hunt. Then it's off to Performing Arts Forum to get some work done on my Genet adaptation. In late July, I move onward to Espana! Bilboa, Barcelona, Madrid...possibly Figueros and further down to Andalusia...if time permits.

Prepare yourself for my European dispatches.

You are astounding and extremely peculiar.
Falling from your ascendant place.
Welcome.
Contact is made and now I can see clearly.
Enormous and valuable eye to skin, skin to eye.
Follow, refuting earthly clarity,
And enjoy this disappearing moment.
(finite boundaries disregarded)
This jars my position, forcing my attention inward, upward, outward, towards you.
In your direction.
Without permission, we believe again.
Togetherness, unified, personified, objectified.
Did you allow me?
I begin to inhale warmth; my desire’s dizziness contented by your weight.
Maintain,
And lift me towards heightened viscera.
Pulped bosom contract and members blossom into raunchy and delicious exaggeration.
Delirious delivery deserves deeper thrust.
Hip to hip, piped tree limbs smolder, enflaming separately.
Combustion occurs.
Breath collapsed kisses abound and envelope the ocean of mannequin parts.
Teeth separate, penetrate, puncture.
Exit, release. Exit, release,
Remaining within.