novice Buddhist, expert neurotic. writer. aspiring adult.
sophcw at gmail dot com
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(photos from top: at The So So Glos, 2011, by Maks Suski, at Top 8 for Slava, 2013, by Marina Galperina, at DREAMS [Grimes, Pictureplane, etc], 2012, by Emily Wheeler, at Top 8 Halloween, 2012, by Amy Cakes, at Lil B party resountracking his NYU lecture as Silent Drape Runners, 2013, by Marina Galperina, at DREAMS, 2012, by Weird Magic, at Liturgy, 2011, by Rob Chabebe)
Last night was weird. We stood around trying to think of what to compare it to: an awkward funeral or a high school graduation party for everyone who had dropped out? It wasn’t over because we were still there, but it also was over and there was nothing left to really do or say. I think we knew we’d all really done enough.
I think the thing I’ll miss the most about 285 is the feeling, similar to the one I described in my piece about post-shutdown Market Hotel for Animal, that it was a place that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. There shouldn’t, in this era, be a big warehouse in Williamsburg, run by 24 year olds, that could fit 500 people but had a legal capacity of zero (or twenty, or whatever). Things happened there that literally couldn’t have happened anywhere else. Things happened to me there that I will remember for the rest of my life. I cried on the sidewalk outside. I made out with boys inside. I took questionable substances all over the place and drank enough to forget that anywhere else existed. I bartended almost topless at a party where most people were naked, used bathrooms that redefined disgusting. I walked out into the unwelcome light of dawn more times than I can remember. I survived the lack of air conditioning at a summer rave. I saw JD Samson play to hundreds of incredibly happy feminists at a show my collective Permanent Wave had put on. I led a panel discussion on Lil B. One night I watched someone saw off some bike locks on an abandoned bike with a fucking table saw while we all hoped they wouldn’t cut off any limbs. I drank a lot of free drinks and schemed about how to get more. And I saw some really fucking great shows. As Tom said in his great Flavorwire piece about it, a great show at 285 felt different than a great show anywhere else. It felt important. I have been saying for years that people are going to look back on this time and this place and use it to define something, and I guess we’ll all find out what that ends up being.
I had a strange relationship with 285. It was like a black hole: once you were in, you weren’t getting out. I loved it, but it also wasn’t good for my health or sanity. And yet I can’t believe it will no longer be there for me to fall into.
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Wow, all these photos from Market Hotel are pretty amazing. I still can’t really believe no one lives there anymore.
6am, sun was coming up, finally leaving the cat factory (with some cats we, you know, manufactured), having felt every emotion ever. Some things and places change, but #moving will always be a shitshow, clusterfuck, complete mess. At least i love these three creatures (#catsinboxes and @sophcw) and a few more who were running around in a uhaul. <3
I look insane because I literally was insane at this point. The small box on the top contained our cat fiona apple who was meowing like a normal cat trapped in a box and the cardboard box below contained annie (clark) who is a huge weirdo and was thus just lying down and licking the inside of the box. WHAT A FUCKING NIGHT.
hai. im molly. i make jewelry and other cool stuff (like this hand chain!) and i have one very stupid tuxedo cat.
Hey all, this is my best friend and roommate. She makes really effing awesome jewelry and she will make it for YOU for a LOW LOW PRICE!!! She put a few things up but you should follow her because much much more goodness is yet to come. Who knows, maybe I will get up on my jewelry game and sell shit on there as well. If nothing else, click through for some really dumb pictures of my cat Annie. <3
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There weren’t enough places out there that were just small," Yoni says. "Small enough to where you could go play your first show and it wouldn’t feel awkward, but also small like we could pack it out and make a 100-person show feel like the craziest night of your life. We didn’t need a space to show what we were capable of doing. We needed a space so that what we were capable of doing could cater to everyone else’s needs.
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I live in one of the two loft buildings known as “McKibbin.” Someone came and filmed a student documentary about it. It’s pretty cute and pretty funny if you live here or have at least been in the building. And it stars my roommate Molly! (She was the only one home that day.)
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2010: I hear Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” for the first time. I move to New York to take a low paying internship and live in a shitty basement in Bed Stuy.
2011: While watching Robyn videos I decide to bleach my hair. I actually take a picture of Robyn to the hair salon to show them what I want.
2012: The song “Dancing On My Own” appears on an episode of the HBO show Girls, written,directed and starring Lena Dunham, about being a young broke writer in Brooklyn. Lena Dunham is offered a $3.4 million dollar book deal.
2013: I quit my job and officially qualify as a young broke writer in Brooklyn. Lena Dunham comes to one of a series of Robyn-themed parties my band throws (last night), leaves approximately when I get there, I don’t see her. Right after I leave someone punches through the window and party is shut down. Brooklyn media outlet writes article on Lena Dunham attending Robyn themed party which was later shut down.
I saw a street called Myrtle Avenue,” Miller wrote, “which runs from Borough Hall to Fresh Pond Road, and down this street no saint ever walked (else it would have crumbled), down this street no miracle ever passed, nor any poet, nor any species of human genius, nor did any flower ever grow there, nor did the sun strike it squarely, nor did the rain ever wash it… Dear reader, you must see Myrtle Avenue before you die, if only to realize how far into the future Dante saw.
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