The amazing Aaron Huey, talking about his experience with Pine Ridge on TED.
“Challenging us with stunning images, Aaron Huey relates the fight for survival on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. Aaron began photographing on Pine Ridge Reservation as part of a story on poverty in America, but it has captured his passion for five years. A quintessential example of the failures of the reservation system, he and we cannot turn away from what we see at Pine Ridge.”
Filed under blurbs
Ever since Wang Kar-Wai, I haven’t been so obsessed with a film until The Beat My Heart Skipped.
SO GOOD.
Filed under film
It’s 2010. I’m blogging again.
Tomorrow I’m leaving for South Dakota with Angela and Shawn, to visit the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I’m almost emotionally ready for it, definitely not physically, but I shall try, in the spirit of a lot of things.
I also started a blog for my first feature, check it out here.
Let’s see, what else? Cris is moving to UMichigan, finally for her MBA. Ayesha wrote a great book and is back in NYC for creative writing MFA at NYU, Heather moved to China, I just finished three years of class for my MFA at NYU graduate film. So much for catching up with my blogging self…
Oh, and American Idol crowned the wrong winner, AGAIN.
Filed under blurbs
why now? after many years, after technology has updated our lives, after so much has been achivevd and lost, why do i pick up this blog again? that was the first thing i had to ask myself. i guess i was just bored on a saturday morning, stumbled onto it and got sucked into reading all the posts, and there was one sentense, somewhere in the mist of all, that says: if every beginning has a meaning, then every ending has you. i guess part of me accept the circle of life as a fact, and part of me wishes i could change that. it’s the year 2009, future, home, love, words have different meanings now, i guess if this is a beginning again, with a meaning that makes sense to me, i want to nurture it and give it a chance to grow, and not plot its death already. is this the year to change? can i ever change? who are you still in all my endings, a reference or something real? even i can’t tell anymore.
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Really, how hard can it be? To put pieces of the past and present together. They say time wont kill love, but timing will. A small play in London I have no chance to see before it was over, music composed by one Neil Codling. Maybe I should go to London, just for a while and connect the dots. Before that, here in New York, an era ended with a night of refined denial, we were all so experienced in playing the game and forgot usually the best swimmers drown. You see, If I could take it all back, I would. And if time stopped the moment we met, remembrance became just a formula, then I would have moved on with no regrets. But just between us, life went on, it was sad, yet somehow, years in the making, still made sense. Love? You called it first.
Filed under blurbs, codders watch
On my walk home on Tuesday night, I found pieces of memories hanging on a colorful tree. It’s a poem, a song, a shadow, the torn plastic bag shivering against the wind, the long shadows of Dekalb, the music of your touch blowing against my windsheld on 95, and the places that no longer had names. I buried you, but haven’t forgotten about you. It’s December again. It’s the thought of you that feared me, and sometimes I wonder if I should walk away from the end of this beginning.
Filed under blurbs
back in the states, back in nyc, without my doggy, without the soul part of a soul searching travel. stumbled onto grad school, a week of trust falls and catered food, a week of encounter the new and parting the old. then intense lack of sleep due to apt and my bro. sadness of ayesha’s departure. missing hanging out with the girls. want to sit down and write but have no time. wrote a script but discovered later can’t shoot on most of the locations because of… LAW? and ayesha starts to dream of harry potter… haha… mission accomplished. cris tells me i should wash the lettuce i bought before eating it. heather is taking care of a homeless dog named Foxy. my new mates at school are too kool for school. i thought tom chaplin and rupert grint are bloody fit. wong kar wai is still a god. i miss having a cook.
after finally breaking through, proxy style, i was internet literate again. what was worth writing down? nothing more than a world of glitter covered pretty faces, actors, dancers, singers, models, and men who enjoyed the cloudiness of vain cuban cigars. i sat wearing my think-green t-shirt, jeans and flipflops, more unpolished than my worst bohemain intent, trying to smile like not-so-teen spirit. someone brought me a hookah, apple flavored, like it was a joke and i smoked, taught the pretty faces how to inhale such intoxicating fume. it wasn’t any specific person that intrigued my memories at that very moment, it was a feeling, like the honesty of an autumn night in fort greene, like that special song played on the brooklyn bridge.
i wished it was the truth that would inspire me again. a truth so close to love like the melting of vocal molasses, the rare realness stored in the museum of earthly regrets i no longer planned to visit.
