Tuesday, June 7, 2016


     When everything inside of me gets hollow, things don't get dark. They get bright and blurry. When I think of despair, real despair–that sense of having any good prospect get drained out of you until you start going down with it– I think of a cold brightness. To me, it is the sense that everything around me, everything despite me, outside of me, is perfect or nearly so. Everything beyond my access is as it should be. And everything within is not. This is from a day where I had to flee my home because it no longer felt safe. I dropped off some film and felt helpless. I couldn't go back home so quickly. I spent several hours walking up the FDR Drive from the Lower East Side instead. If I had to make a movie about that day, it would look and sound like this.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Allow me to Reintroduce Myself

     This blog never worked out! Holy shit! Wowza! And do you know why? Because I exhausted too much efforts in trying to be, like, a blog. Like an established, wow-the-whole-universe-already-gives-a-damn-even-though-no-one-knows-my-name-ass blog. And that ain't me! I'm me. I'm Jenoris and if I'm going to be frank (sans ocean, #July2015 amirite?), I'm not as passionate about fashion as I pretended to when I started this. Like don't get me wrong, I care about it, just not deeply. The only line I ever actively look up every fashion month (which feels like it's every month, am I wrong on this? what happened to just week? or was that never a thing? I should brush up on my Fashion History™) is The Row and only visually because it's out of range in both size and price. Praying on the day that its designers Ashley Olsen and Mary-Kate Olsen decide that their beautiful, loose fit silhouettes would actually be perfect for plus size customers. But oh well. Until then, I guess.

    Anyway, in the interest of being honest, I should state up front that this blog's primary purpose is for me to have a place in which to regularly hone my writing skills. I don't know if anyone actually uses blogger anymore (kudos if you do and if you have an audience because wow talk about a time capsule of a platform) but I will simply because this kind of blog would live and die in the same breath on, say, tumblr or... what else even exists anymore? Anyway, right now my main platform for writing is my instagram and especially The Pulp Zine, an online zine for which I am currently a writer and Managing Editor. I try to post new content on there at least once a month and if I can actually dedicate myself to this I guess I'll keep all 1 and 3/10ths of y'all updated on that. These are my pieces for this month:

Cleaning, a diary entry concerning mental illness and self-care.
A Pulp Day In BK, a photo diary of a day spent with Actual Angels® and co-staff at TPZ in Brooklyn attending art things and talking art stuff and whatnot.

     So here's the impressive stuff about me: I've had words and photos published online (mostly on TPZ). I'm doing a shoot next month for La Liga Zine and will showcase photos from the shoot at their show at Silent Barn on June 24th! I have a few other interesting creds I could sprinkle in here but for safety reasons, cannot. All in all, for a writer and photographer this shit ain't all that bad right? Living the dream right, my brosephs? Wrong. Very Wrong.

     I do all of this work out of passion and love for the publications and actual artwork and process. I don't make hecking zip from it (yet, hopefully). I work at a Ben & Jerry's at an airport and and I fuckening dislike it (this is Good Christian for wow I h*te it). This isn't me being all suburban asshole punk bank like wow I hate my town I can't get out of here like my job actually is draining. It feels like a hole in which to bury my failures but also a monument to how much I haven't done (yet, hopefully). But it's not a monument I built. It was one that was already there that I'm forced to be inside of 5 times a week that's filled with Bostonians with terrible attitudes and racist Floridians as well as people who get really REALLY upset about Ben & Jerry's not carrying that most ghastly of flavors, rum raisin.

     I'm hoping, praying I can stay faithful to this blog so it can motivate me to stay faithful in my other ventures including those mentioned earlier in this post, as well as personal ones and a newsletter that I like totally abandoned after the first email. Waiting for the second letter, I think, must feel like how it felt waiting for Lady Gaga to put out Schie├če in 2012 and instead watching, painfully, as Marry The Night flopped. I still mourn over that because that song was #fire and a #bop.

     Anyway, I actually do have the second letter written out and have for a long time, I just haven't sent it because. . . / ? ? sdklja  /? ? ?

     Anyway x2, this is what I look like (post aggressive session in VSCO cam and actually taking care of my skin last week). You can see how dead I am inside. What a #look. My hair doesn't look this good all the time (or ever, really) so soak it in, heckos!

Yours Truly, Sincerely, Frankly,