Nothing You Can Say Can Stop Me Going Home

The photo at the top is a bird that flew in through an open window during the summer and lived in my room for a day.

The bottom photo is the first photograph I ever took with artistic intention. Winter of sophomore year.


FICTION: Tonight is one of the more deciding moments of my life. One of those temporary moments in your pathetic excuse to idealize and time your life, that you can call a moment important. Like any other night, time crawls by; gruelingly but unrelentlessly. Maybe I should be more like Time. NO matter what happens that monster doesn't stop coming.

I created my portfolio to be sent out with applications for transfer next year. Go to better cities to get an actual education and get a real job. Get out of the DMZ. Who knows what'll happen. But almost as if to say "Give them hell, kid", a familiar face pulled me out of my psych ward courses to ask if I could represent someone the DMZ as a successfull journalist. Later I learned that the reason I was being asked on such short notice was due to their contact being MIA.

I winged it. It was fun, actually. I am very comfortable talking to large groups of people, over a hundred tonight, about my life and the experiences I go through. I didn't go into anything negative though. Just the good, like a mature, biased little reporter.

I'll change things one day guys - just you wait.

FACT: I finished my college applications tonight as well as my college photography portfolio. Gojakego. I also represented success for the Freshman Night, with two other people. It went really well I love talking about that stuff with people.

Wish me luck people, God's speed.

"Teenagers scare the living shit out of me." - Gerald Way

Fighting the Cold with Warm Hearts

I wrote this for the local paper. I think you should read it.

<3

NOVEMBER 6TH – Cold air rushes through my thin jeans jacket as I approach the Green. A Jersey Boy Bagel’s coffee scorches my lungs; making me burn from within but shiver from without. Then I see the lines. Roughly over two hundred people quiver in a clunky line that weaves its way through the park to a rectangle cautioned off by orange temporary fence. As I get closer I see the jackets, thousands of jackets sprawled on the floor of the park, organized into rough rows that I soon realize are for Children, Men and Women.

The 20th annual coat drive led by the Market Street Mission took place in early November this year. David Scott, a built white man of 5’8 and an eye patch, greets me with a smile and a firm handshake. He’s been the director of the event for 20 years – since it began. Homeless or low income families are allowed to take multiple free jackets regardless of income – and no registration required. “You don’t have to qualify” says Scott; who allows the Market Street Mission to benefit more individuals because often registration turns people off as they are ashamed or embarrassed of their condition. Scott tells me that there are two types of ministry the organization perform – basic needs and the Life Change program. Basic needs constitute food and water, and shelter, whereas the Life Change program offers emotional and mental support for those who are plagued by economic hardship. When asked how many coats they give away he responds “Well, we gave away over 5000 last year...”

I quickly learned that keeping my camera on my shoulder was a bad, bad move -It would have issued the same response if I was holding a flashlight in everyone’s eyes. One gentleman however was completely content with talking to me, even offered. I sat on edge of the fountain at the South entrance to the park, desolately scoping people to talk to when he beckoned me over, telling me I “could take his picture if I wanted to.” From there he delved into his life story, so fast it was hard to keep up with him. Since we were at the entrance to the sectioned off area for jackets, I told him to meet me after he’d gotten his coat.

He returned as I found him, in short shorts and a weathered black North Face sweater. Andy Beck, gentleman who neglected to give his age, received a master’s degree in Information Technology. He also claimed to be a paralegal which he obtained from Farleigh Dickinson. He drives, and lives, in a white Mazda 626. He currently camps in Somerville, New Jersey and comes to Morristown for it’s Soup Kitchen. Although he didn’t directly tell me, he seemed rather fond of Morristown, and the food they give. He drives a school bus during the day.

For about an hour, I sat on the edge of that fountain, politely asking people for interviews in multiple ways, and almost everyone politely told me no. I stood up and thought about just interviewing the volunteers, when I witnessed a truly unique and inspiring moment in time.

Around five or six young African Americans, no younger than three and no older than nine were whipping around the inside of the dry fountain, playing tag. After taking some candid photographs, I located the children’s mother – a sweet and lean African American lady in her early forties. “She’s a ray of sunshine” quotes the mother who neglected to provide her name. The girl’s name is Renee Phillips, and she is four and a half. Talkative young lady, most of what she told me I couldn’t understand, but it was adorable no less. She’s in Pre-K and resides in East Orange.

After the encounter with the children and their guardians, it went really slow. Everyone glared at me, like I was an awkward pimple on someone’s face that you wanted to tell them about, but just remained silent in disgust. One gentleman stopped me mid step by saying very calmly “Turn around young man, I have nothing to say to you”. As I was ready to leave, a red haired man who looked to be in his early 50s with cool blue eyes just began talking to me. It was odd, because he was talking to the person he was in line with, and then randomly began to address me. He had a deep face, and a contemplative attitude to what seemed like everything.

Charles Larussa lives with his parents in Succasunna, New Jersey. He at one point worked for the MCCA of Morris County. He seemed to be a popular man, talking to a few people around him including a young lady who looked to be in her early 30s. Rachel Greenburg told me she’s living on the streets of Madison, New Jersey. She is only 29 years old.

“We need to have the understanding. But we don't have the time or the compassion to see what [the homeless] are coming from. And they don't have the trust” – Yolanda Serrano (Executive Director of ADAPT Program in 1990)

IEDs On My Mind

FICTION: All quiet on the Western Docks. Hah no I'm just kidding the DMZ was shut down this week. Companies are allowed to send their representatives to judge the conditions of the working environments they are sending their employees into. No one was sent for me. They don't really care anymore.

I've gotten into a habit of traversing the miles on foot out of the DMZ and towards the Plains where I have permanent residency. It's fun actually, and great exercise. A lot of people do not understand that your attitude fluctuates dramatically as you release endorphines and exhaust your muscles. It's a tendency you should get into more; working out that is. I walked the rail line into the city one day this week to meet up with some friends, and found an abandoned line that diverted to a ghostly power station buried in the bowels of the forest. A dead deer was strown across the metal bars that outlined the train's pathway, heavily coated in vines and shrubbury.

I've re-established contact with the hyper local newspaper working within and without the DMZ, and it's revitalizing - working again. I made some pocket change doing a shoot down 206 of some dancers, and tonight I shot a reception about recycling, and how important is. The turnout was stunning. Maybe someone one day will convince the city to actually recycle. There is hope in this world, too.

FACT: School closed this week for conferences. I went to the NJ School of Ballerinas? I think, to take pictures for my Mom. She paid me. Yay. I also walked the train tracks into Morristown and took some sick pictures of a bunch of random items, including a deer skull that was resting on the cold metal tracks.

I also restablished contact with Morristown Green, and shot a story on recycling, a huge propper reception with people in suits and ties talking about what they were doing to save the environment. I hate how my school doesn't recycle.

"The homeless are proof of the striving perserverance of the human spirit."