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Vintage Avant-garde Manifesto.

Old-School Film Photography

june 2011

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a sudden, complete or marked change in something.

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“imagine all the people living life in peace..."NYC, last december, you and me.

Fuck I’m cold. Last night I was shirt-less smoking a cigarrette in my backyard. My girlfriend is in the bathroom changing her clothes and suiting up for this cold. She took my good gloves, so I clench my fists in my pockets and head for the airtrain. Behind stays JFK’s International Airport, and way behind stayed my beautiful island.

Howard Beach it is because of a bad advice, however, we are on our way to west upper side Manhattan. Titi Cuchi lives up there; 96th & Central Park. We will be staying there for our entire trip, so she’s expecting us anytime now.

After almost two hours we arrived at the train station. The underground world of the city has a wonderful magnetic vibe of intensive movement within the static routine in which it is submerged.

We’re out. I’m freezing my ass again. Central Park gets my first glance as we climb

up the stairs into the street. Marina’s cold too. She grabs my arm as she laughs and smile in a combination of excitement and ass-freezing cold. We deserve this trip so badly.

We arrive at the lobby and my aunt was there. We fell in love with her right away. I couldn’t remember the las time I saw her, I must’ve been a kid. We talked to her and my unlce Shago for hours, and after we ate, we were ready for our first drink.

I called Enrique, one of my old friends from Puerto Rico who’s now living in the apple. I met Enrique back in college, where he was getting his bachleor’s degree in performance of the classical guitar and a minor in composition, while I majored in composition. Everything is set. We would meet at nine at the W4 train station in the village. Our type of place exactly.

After walking around for a little bit we finally arrived at the Grassroots Tavern in St. Mark’s Place in the east village. Old times and old stories over the 3$ house bourbon.

Genious. After getting drunk and filled with amazing falafel next door, we call it a night.

Next morning, dec. 9, we head for a walk in Central Park. As we approached Strawberry Fields, it came to us. Yesterday, 30 year’s ago, John Lennon had been murdered. There were we at the memorial. I took a moment to realize the monumental influence his music, and the music of the Beatles in general, had over me through my whole life. I stood there in the most deep celebration of love and harmony, and by my own means and will, adding myself to that one dream that stayed amongst us. Happy of being there at that particular moment with the love of my life, and once again imagining that peace. -Yan.

the morning of dec. 9

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A breathless walk through the cityʼs afternoon light.

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