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 Schieße 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,

Saturday, September 19, 2015

twenty two

august 31, 2014

     "Life a year ago. I said I'd write a reflection today. I'm going to be 100% real no social media image here. Right now in this point in time I am extremely alone. More than this, I am lonely. People often make a distinction but I don't think it's an accurate one. There is a difference between being alone and being by yourself. Most people need time to be by themselves but being alone is a very different experience. Being by yourself suggests that there's a tangible accessibility to other people. Being alone is the absence of that accessibility. It is having access to solely yourself. It is the place that fosters the running away to one's mind to a different world, romanticized but rather than harmlessly idyllic, can turn to something more sinister: a dangerous delusion, one that is irresistible to its god (the thinker). Alone is more than fomo. Alone is more than those complacent simple people in movies who have a secret untapped need for romance (😒). Alone is a place where you look at your surroundings and can't picture anyone who would realistically be there. Alone is square zero. The blurry, undefined area before the starting line of whatever lies beyond it. Is it a social life? Is it a romantic life? Is it a fulfilling career? Is it happiness or some misconstrued idea of it? This is where I am. This is not a pity post, do not mistake my transparency for weakness or a call for attention. It is a healthy acknowledgment that a change of pace is needed in order for me to get past 22. It is time to stop thinking of the great friendships that could have been and think about the great friendships that might come. It is time to stop thinking of the boys that were and weren't and think about the Jenoris that is and always has been and will continue to be. It is time to stop thinking about the missed opportunities and joys and fun and focus on how I can take back my youth for myself. I cannot continue to stand idly and watch myself deteriorate into a highly depressed and lonely mess while all the indifferent world passes me by. Above all it is time for me to accept that even if I don't make these great connections I very deeply wish for in this next year of my life that any insignificance I carry in another persons life had no affect whatsoever on my inherent value as a person. I am more than a thoughtful Instagram post, more than a funny Facebook status, more than that weird person taking iPhone photos of strangers on the 1 train. I am Jenoris Motherfucking Caba. I exist. I am here. I matter and I love myself and my God. This is enough."

Taken from my instagram post on August 31, 2015