(Who Will) Go There

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50K ... Will it be YOU?

Monday People (Characters)

“‘Hello … ?'”, ©Jeff Glovsky

“Intersection”, ©Jeff Glovsky

“Local Time”, ©Jeff Glovsky

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More street life and humans, being ...
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“角 落 (The Corner)”, ©Jeff Glovsky

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"Characters"
People on Behance

by Jeff Glovsky

The 25th

Hey Kids!  According to WordPress, I've just made my 25th post HERE.  But

"Who's Counting?", ©Jeff Glovsky

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Always be a poet, even in prose.

- Charles Baudelaire

Fearless Failure

Whenever a gig folds, I expand ...

I wrote that twenty-some years ago, in a fit of exhaltation, having been sent home from a nice-paying job because -- as it was put to me -- my bright, loud '90s tie was too wide.  I think there may have been stars all over it.  I remember a guy I worked with bursting out into "Star Man" -- this tremulous, pitch-perfect Bowie noise -- whenever he saw me throughout that day.  We laughed about it ... Me calling him "Ziggy" ... Me laughing not with, but at myself ... and then my gig folded.

I got sent home.

Looking back, it's doubtful my neckwear was the (only) problem.  Perhaps I was bored.  A bit understimulated ... I was working in a hotel environment, where customer service and propriety were the norms.  Probably singing "Ballroom has broken", loudly -- this excellent, tremulous Bowie noise! -- to the tune of "Morning Has Broken", or barking gibberish in German, didn't help back then with the overall perception of me as a qualified, team-oriented AV professional (nor one with a full set of crayons in the box, for that matter!).

... I got sent home.

That paled, though, in comparison to being called up by an employer on New Year's Eve once, after work, and being bluntly informed that that day had been my last ... The subsequent year getting off to a flying stop, as I lay on the floor of New York's Port Authority bus station, waiting for daylight on January 1st, and my wife to return from upstate with our house keys.

There are several -- nay, hundreds -- of other examples, of me and misfortune caressing each other ... Each time, with each failure, and each lesson learned, there's potential, resolve not to get it wrong next time!

There are realizations, and steely damn insights, and fury ... Self-loathings with each new awareness...

But work-wise, I've learned it comes down to this:  If the job doesn't fit you, you really should quit.

If the job don't fit, you gotta quit.

If you're in a rut and it doesn't feel right ... bored to wit's end, and you're understimulated ... Singing songs to pass the time, or acting foolish through discomfort -- You don't feel you belong, so you're creating discomfiture -- it's time to assess.  Call timeout, and if necessary, take yourself out of the game.

Don't wait to be benched.  Or, for your gig to be folded ...

Take a deep breath.  Expand.

Be exhalted ...

Obnoxious

For most of my adult life, since first being subjected to, quite literally, 'music free commercial marathons' on New York City radio in the late 1980s, I've opted out as a radio listener.

To me, there is nothing -- no thing -- more grating, like nails on a chalkboard or through the skull, than a shouting, hyped-up radio ad.  Annoyingly crass, too often unfunny, always talking too fast and demanding I hear ... There has been, and remains, no single thing that will make me move quicker to turn off or unplug an inaminate object, than an obnoxious and overlong music- and energy-sucking commercial on non-public radio.

Inasmuch, society's "hits" have never meant anything to me.  I couldn't say thirty years ago what you, as a kid, were 'dancing' to; I certainly can't tell you now.

Wait, that's untrue.  In fact, I'm "hipper" today ... better informed musically, from a societal (or "Top 40") perspective, than I was in that era when U2, Whitney Houston, Roxette and Lisa Lisa -- and Crazy Eddie -- all shared the airwaves and vied for attention.

This, of course, has as much to do with social media, as it does the little "rugrat" vying for my attention (guilelessly bopping now to One Republic :) ... not only the Internet, but the prevalence of Things.  Music -- news, weather, awareness in general -- seep in today, more than they ever were able to.

Today then, is a forced content (non-"on demand"), overly ad-serving platform like radio even necessary?

Along these lines ... Should anybody really be surprised about Beck winning Grammys in 2015?  Be asking, even jokily -- like Kanye stalking forth to claim "his" prize (for Beyonce!) -- "Who the fuck is Beck?"?

You know who Beck is!  Even you, little "Rugrat" ... Inconceivable back when Beck was 'losing', you're old enough now for 'lost' worlds to seep in ... You should add a Republic!  A Direction or two!  Become multi- ... Span generations.  Expand.

And above all, learn ...

to respect artistry.

Read, Liked District

November Nods (October Acknowledgements) out to ...

@Spiegro, for recommending "In Carmen Aragon Again".

... I'll find her.

@tkwyoung, for amping up the visibility of "From Medium to Middling" and helping me get my point across (and thanks to the 10 (so far) who seem to agree, by recommending the piece):  simply put, that Medium (not the TV show), a once vibrant and valuable visibility platform -- a writer's wet dream, if you will, affording easy exposure to readers of quality -- is not what it once was.

Still, I enjoy the simplicity of posting to Medium.  Although work of mine may very well, literally, languish unread there ... it only takes one astute Collection editor to snatch up the orphan ...

So thanks to @JustThinkingNow for taking in "Still Relevance" - a (relevant) Monica Lewinsky piece, originally posted here on blogspot.

Finally, thanks to Guilhem Ribart, Daniel P.K. Ng and AlmostFreeNYC for noticing, a lot, last month.

*Plus a special shout this time around, out to long-time Photos by Jglo appreciator, Sawa Minori! ty :)

- September Shouts

- December's Children

(Some) Musical Influences

"A-B Road"

"Liam"

"Integration Blue(s)"

"Disraeli Geared"

"Sunday Morning"

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"Walk on the Wild Side", ©Jeff Glovsky

September Shouts

Pause for Reflection ...

Given that September this year has been a month of visual language, with the bulk of my online activity being photographic, as opposed to written -- and in "celebration" of the revival of Photo(s) by Jglo on WordPress, after leaving the "Lo-Fi Project" there in January -- it's appropriate to close out this month of new appreciations, with a few shout-outs and nods* myself.

These are not only welcome 'repeat offenders' to Jeff Glovsky: The Second Set, checking in and "liking" often (and liking multiple images, seemingly getting the visual 'sets' I try spinning ... ), but they're artists who see things through eyes like mine; I likewise get their work, and throw back some link love:

And last, but absolutely not least ...

Last December, I blew smoke as well ... My message, the same:  Just want to say Thank You, for checking in, checking out and regularly liking ...

©Jeff Glovsky, All Rights Reserved.

*honorable shouts this round, out to Alex Markovich, Timothy S. Allen, Amateur Airplanes and Juju Films.  Oh, and Crazy Artist ... Вы также круто!

The Image Game

on WordPress turns One

Early this year, I said Goodbye to the "Lo-Fi Project":  a year-long adventure in cell phone photography, playing around with different devices and moods.

My 'weapon of choice' in this regard has been, and still is, my trusty (and crusty) old Blackberry Bold.  This vaguely paperweighty object, despite needing an extra wide "extended" battery (held to the back of the device with black gaff tape), and having been dropped, and other things -- kicked, flushed, fogged, moistened, over and undercharged) dozens of times -- remains my baby.  Like the 35mm "moojy" it replaced, I rocked 'Triple B' until she bled from exhaustion:

Good pictures, great ones, a whole lotta crap ... Just like loving moments in a human relationship.  Sure, me and Triple B struggled sometimes; but in the end, we knew and felt each other ... had each other's backs, and were always up for a little action ;) ;) ;) ;-) !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I've spent the past year or so flirting and dancing (deep-throating) with Google, trying to make my cream rise online ... and have more or less succeeded, with the help of phoneography ...

I have long been interested in visuality.  I appreciate architecture, composition ... perspective intrigues me ... I have studied photography, and been snapping and 'scrapbooking' photos for decades.   At first, I was appalled at the integration of optic and communication technology:  the first cell phone/camera combination repelled me, not only on a 'purist' (though decidedly amateur) photographer level, but on the obvious basis of privacy, also.

Ten years or so later, with privacy teetering on the brink of extinction ... Miley Cyrus now, somehow, exhibiting "artwork" ... and our collective threshold for shame and embarassment lowered, if not erased completely, by crass "reality" with no one caring ...

I see no reason not to play.

"Fat Unicorn"

Photo(s) by

Jeff Glovsky

Happy Birthday to Me

Jeff Glovsky (WordSpeak) turns ONE

(Another Year in Review ...)

Companion Piece (Characters)

Walking around the streets of my old town .. the Upper West Side, where I lived and breathed.

Where Amy's boyfriend broke the bar sign ... Joe G. (and Jeff G. - Jg²!!) shared a "bromance" before there ever was such a thing ... Skinny Jen and her Nicolas Cage-looking fella consoled each other through various episodes ...

Where Rick and Judith became "JewRick" ... where the multi-talented Angry Black Man targeted his future wife (proving there's trueness to "love at first sight") ... Where "Humphrey Bumphrey", "Gus", "Sergeant (Pepper)" and "Ass Feast" (don't ask!) trod the boards ... "Zoo Loser" and her sister, "Scab" (...seriously);

where Wolf and Ernest prowled the streets, the latter with his harelip up, a picture frame around his neck ('cause he was "FRAMED!", see?); or imploring passersby who'd listen, "What's the greatest nation on earth?"

Why, that would be the "Dough-nation!

"Donate to the United Negro Pizza Fund?" Ernest would ask, and I always would.  For one thing, Ernest was pleasant ... He was personable.  Not full of these fake Munchausen-esque self-pity syndromes, sitting planted on the sidewalk in people's way.

No, Ernest didn't have a new scrawled sign with a different sob story, in a different neighborhood, each night or week.  He didn't dress up for Halloween and make angry demands ... nor did he own a cell phone or iPad and sit there entitledly, chatting or tapping away on the sidewalks while fully expecting someone, at least, to rain into his paper cup ...

Ernest spoke for his place and time, in a way, and his generation:  he was engaged, first off ... He would make eye contact ... made an effort ... He was annoying, a little, but not unpleasant or nasty.

My pal Wolf, on the other hand ...

Though Wolf was also engaged:  in keeping alive, afloat, on the move (always prowling) ... He was never just sitting there, obnoxiously waiting.  Wolf, and I'm pretty sure, friendly Ernest, would have accepted employment had it been offered.  Neither seemed entitled or above it all (despite appearing on, and of, the streets) ... and neither one of them was overtly faking.

I think of old friends on the Upper West Side, and acquaintances and names I knew ... More clearly envisioning 20+ years ago, than my life here this century, which ended last decade ...

I've moved on.  Though I still think of Amy, Joe G., Skinny Jen ... auld FU in general ... Wolf, Ass Feast (!), the Angry Black Man and Ernest ... and I think still of Zorro, who loved to dream ...

Each night, caught her traipsing her mangy hound here ... the two of them dressed to the nines, fit to kill!

Then, "Zorro" was sixty, if she was a day ... apparently living to find a friend.  I followed her down for ten blocks the first time, the wide and noisy street between us:  me, on the east of Columbus, that is, and she and her mutt traipsing down on the west side ...

And Zorro flicked hair from a flattish sombrero, this dyed blonde, unruly and posthumous mane.  Her little pooch cried out as well ... the two of them begging, imploring attention ...

It was me, though, who tanked on that need as they vibed there!  That mutt, but outrageous, and yapping like mad.

"Sssshh," Zorro pampered and squatted down then ... to cuddle and fondle and soothe her dog friend ... and down there like that, her short skirt rode up high, and her narrow and varicose thighs kissed the midnight.

... As much as it hurts me to realize, admit it, I've outgrown New York.  Or it's left me behind ... or I've simply and finally, indeed, moved on.

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The "Zorro" bit, adapted from Central Park (a work in progress) ... Thanks for reading!

Tell Me ...

Comments

are Open

... Be Gentle

What Can I Say?

Goodreads, anyone?

I didn't like it.

It's ME(dium), Fuckers

photo(s) by Jglo

Some might argue that it's hubristic to write in the first-person.

I (me, myself and ... ) disagree.

What I would argue is that the first-person, as a narrative form, should be retired.  This would limit, if not eliminate, all the p(r)osers, pretenders and Starbucks dreamers who "share" themselves like drunken cheerleaders.  Before them, of course -- this Facebook, cut and paste, "open-source" crowd -- there were the older siblings ... also scribbling, pos(t)ing dreamily, into Barnes & Noble "journals" the size of granny panties ... or contributing to Fray.

To me, it was this wave that killed the first-person ... although I completely missed this wave.  While struggling to keep jobs and apartments back then, and a marriage more or less intact, with regrets and recalcitrance rearing up on determined hind legs at every turn -- plus an afraid, douche-y dilettantism which sidelines and holds me at bay, to this day -- I avoided the fray.

Instead, I declared the first-person "dead", and missed that whole boat!  Like telling the Beatles guitar groups are out, I turned myself down -- didn't bother to show up -- at countless auditions and opportunities ...

I was stupid.

I've always considered myself a writer ... Writing!  No more shitty gigs!  No odd job mental patient lot, no theater, theayter ... NOT!  I'm never gonna work again! 

... But when life interferes, when you're forced to make choices, it's easier to think those words than to be them.  Writing came easy ... The living, less so.

So in missing the first-person boat first-time round, I declared that I never cared to sail.

Then into this self-pity party, stepped Medium.  As an unfettered, unadorned platform for writing -- and for putting eyes upon (my) words -- there's at this moment, in my estimation, no equal.  Any genre -- save maybe the fevered erotics of (my!) especially wet dreams -- is game ... and automatically "accepted" for publication; i.e., published.

This is huge.

And with seemingly built-in SEO, Medium serves, for me, a dual purpose:  It gives me a chance to throw my own "I" into the ring (although fifteen years or so late to that game) ... and also affords me an audience of readers.

Type a little, bop and weave words, save and enter ... BOOM!

"Jeff Glovsky" is in your face!  And in your "reading list" - the 21st century equivalent of a humble, early (wet) dream of mine:  to see my name on a bookstore shelf.

As a Writer, exposure is all I need ...

So thanks, Readers.  Thank you, Collection Editors.  And thank you to Medium ... for giving me (myself, I ... ) a second chance.

Emergence . . .

"Emergence", ©Jeff Glovsky

Moods and Pieces

on Medium

Spring Study

 

"Spring Studies", ©Jeff Glovsky

The Voice

I can turn a phrase, I'll give me that.

Not to sound like a douche or anything ... but I like to think, as a writer, that I know what I've got.

I consider myself a writer first, a "blogger" dead last ... I'm not "sharing", I'm expressing ... in fact, I'm not a writer at all ...

I compose things:  build sentences.  Craft paragraphs ...

I'm a Writer.

As a "blogger", I'm just dead in the water.  Sunk in a sea of voiceless fish ... all glub-glubbing their lists, and their how-to primers ... their Do and Don't treatises ... nasty "reviews", insipid, rude rumors, provocation-less thoughts and, generally, woefully unfunny "humor" ...

As a writer, I've become inured ... learned to repel, to tune most of it out;

as a blogger, to thrive, stay afloat and alive in the dead sea of overwrought, voiceless fish ... you are compelled, to take it all in.

As a Writer ... I remain repellent.

der Traum

Dream Scene

In a town like Long Island — rainy, dull and seaside-like — we’re drunk, four of us, in a car driving round.  One of our group is this girl I used to hang with; she’s all tingly trashed warm now and needing to pee ...

read more

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Wor(d)s in Progress:  from "Central Park"

by Jeff Glovsky

"Writer", ©Jeff Glovsky

Jeff Glovsky dot Net

/see-you

/photos-by

/jglo

/raw-image

(Audio-) VISUELL

You are being watched.

Your movements, actions are recorded .... Chased and captured, space and time ... Pasted, cut up, posted up on places, Facebook!  Websites you don't know or use.

You move freely ... But you're seen.  You are collected, grouped and categorized, followed and recognized by eyes unseen ... Obscene!

But I like to keep things light between us ... When I follow you with eyes unseen, I blur the lines.  I don't name names, or "tag" or claim to be your "friend" ... but I watch too.

You're being seen.

Jeff Glovsky.net - VISUELL