letter.2.nyc.

wow!  months have passed & the man utilizing this form remembers little of the purposely deferred dream before.  insidious toils of frivolity & attention surrounding fashion genius appeal less as the american visage is consumed in the cocoon of celebrity.  there’s a shift from discoursed fervor of design to copious sameness of banality as hipsters & coked coteries become darlings to a landscape once esoteric.  

the time, in which this city I now call home, is peculiar as the financial meltdown globally brought the world so close that, intimately, i could polish it in my palms.  now fashion; the bigger picture breaks down to profit & gross margins vs assets, liabilities & licenses disguised by beauty which i truly admire.  i get the fantasy just to no longer live the affair as its called work.  i wish it drove the unilateral covenant of the human condition close but it doesn’t.  my desires for substantive living, wearing nipple tanks, boat shoes & puffing cigars takes precedent to living up to the pseudonym i’ve grown to recognize among my peers… kaiser. (tribute to karl).  

i think more about rebirth, the smile of the love i left far below the mason dixie line, and the intimate understanding of god in sex.  i’m affected more by the life of the homeless woman & her story in my neighborhood or the impact-full lives of aaliyah, pedro zamora, arthur ashe, x, bobby kennedy & harvey milk to name a few.

now i do cherish, beyond belief for varying degrees of irrational, ysl, robert geller, jil sander, yohji, lim, vintage helmut, & vintage balmain, halston, alaia, & blass for women, but not so much to be consumed by the shallow arrogance of nobodies obsessed with image & pretending greatness.

genius knows genius as it is born not paid so lets change the world beyond taking ourselves serious.

agreed!