at.lang.last

there’s a little hesistation in my willingness to hash out details of my life’s travails in new york city.  possessed between confines of running wildly with scissors and refocusing my ambitions far away from here, my mind once densely clouded is auspiciously transparent.  for you to understand, i must go back to beginnings.

head down; two feet on the ground, i arrived in sustenating lofty aspirations to be seated as the wolf at the table. amplified was the hunger to devour the weak and establish a reverred coterie filled with acolytes similar in dictatorship and thought not celebrity.  my reputation and thirst for human history far exceeds shopping at mcqueen or jeffrey.  instead i felt like the new fish swimming in a school where few gatekeepers flash nothing remotely groundbreaking but syrupy archness paraded as cleverness.  firmly, i’m unamused & unimpressed at great lengths.

i accept new york’s faults as they are and wish to no longer work; that was my dream all along.  sure, i could be at derek lam or helmut lang as a whole sale s.a.e but those goals are work.  i’d rather be on the creative team of an artist that has talent (relative) like kenna, common or ciara; attend culinary school to add another trade to my extensive belt, or travel the world while writing screen plays.

i’m working on a new site… called: the editor. stay peeled.

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