Friday, October 31, 2014



"blind summer in the open windows at dusk with the wind and the crickets drenching the air but different in the way i can hear the night field harvesting and the dry leaves swirling like a fire. i shed my shoes and the grass was damp, the leaves dry and warm. a faint tanline wrapped around the wrist where my lollapalooza wristband used to be. i could hear summer, the fuel of my soul, fading."

-THE LAST DAY OF INDIAN SUMMER / Rachel Bushong / October 2014

Friday, October 24, 2014



 "We had been driving all night, surviving on post sunrise bagels and cappuccinos from some small town off the highway in New Jersey. Although we looked hungover, a second wind infected all of us. And all at once we caught sight of it on the horizon through the traffic of the interstate between the Autumn hills: the concrete jungle. Born to Run was blaring as Manhattan burned pure gold in the morning sun, everyone incapable of saying anything but "look at it, look at it, it's so beautiful." Our eyes were tired, our bodies cramped and tangled in the mess of blankets, our hair mussed, but we were explosive, beaming from the inside out, all smiles and hushed laughter and knowing looks of IT'S ALL HAPPENING tattooed across our faces. Dawn never felt so liberating." 

-NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN / Rachel Bushong / October 2014

Friday, October 17, 2014


Early October Friday night. Freezing night, burning house. 50 of us crammed into one living room, empty except for our bodies. A bumping sound system. Windows and doors thrown open, but all of us hot and happier than ever. We danced to Started From the Bottom twice. And the cops showed up after Turn Down For What because we were too loud and wild and didn't care. Dancing is revival.

-RAY