Listen, it's the same story you already know so well. Overbearing ego paired with crippling self doubt. When I tell people I'm a writer, they assume fame and fortune aren't important values of mine, but they're wrong. I'm in it for the glory. That, and the ethereal catharsis provided by uninhibited self expression. 

I've never felt a feeling that didn't knock me off my feet. Last week, I cried on the G train listening to "Bennie and the Jets" because I didn't get to experience the 70s. Weeks before, I sat down on Rivington en route to an art show in the dead of winter, gathering my hair in my hands as I struggled to cope with the chaos of reality. 

Authenticity from every individual poses the only hope for saving what I see as an ailing society. I have overcome a great deal of emotional hardship to achieve the clarity I strive to present you with. When I'm not tearing at the seams, I write about street art. I write personal essays. I like modeling and making art when the mood is right. Check out the pages on my sidebar to find my work. 

My Favorite Pieces

Of Women, By Women

Thursday, December 12th marks the beginning of Wendy Horwitz’s potentially ephemeral curating career, with the opening of “Of Women, By Women” at The Storefront Project. Horwitz, of relative Instagram fame for her documentation of NYC’s street art scene under the handle, told me this is the first show she’s ever curated, and it might be her last. “Who knows?” Horwitz laughed. “This show happens to be a passion project. It wasn’t even my idea. A year and a half ago, in the summert

Beholders: A Timely Look At The Ongoing Migrant Crisis By Jofre Oliveras

When I took World Cultures in 10th Grade, my teacher, a steely yet lovable cynic who could provoke laughter and the fear of God in the span of a sentence, sagely told us, “the human race will not get along until aliens come to Earth.” Straightforward enough, I thought. People fought, I knew this. My parents watched the news with dinner. When I graduated high school and left my town for New York City, I came to understand this concept so much more profoundly, more intimately. Tribe mentality was

By Any Means —

Three drags from an Uber driver’s cigarette bolstered my facade of calm. I swallowed the acidic taste in the back of my throat and stepped through the entrance for my first glimpse into Richard’s apartment. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen in New York, with a spacious terrace featuring panoramic views of Central Park and the frosty Upper East Side. Black and white tiles gave the floor a sense of antiquity. I noticed a thin layer of dust covering everything and thought, Couldn’t he affor