GRAPEFRUIT EYED ATTRACTION
BY: Mayumi Park
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I called her.

I was worried as heck when she did not call me back yesterday. I totally thought she heard it from him first and then decided not to speak to me ever again. I was wrong. I called her again today after work and she finally answered — turned out that she took a long ass nap the day before when she got back to Brooklyn. Whew! Anyways, I confessed about the late night session I had with her ex because it’s good to be honest and get yelled at than to tuck it away and let it ferment to something even more problematic. Anything I did with him was meaningless and I stressed that so hard when I said that. 

Good news is that she wasn’t mad at all. She’s in a happy relationship right now in Brooklyn, so nothing bothers her. In fact, she even encouraged me to sexually experiment with her ex and confessed that she wanted to have group sex with us. Haha (I would not have said no to that to be quite honest). Glad she doesn’t feel weird about it at all! The only thing left is the guy who I went on that roadtrip with. My decision: I’m not going to tell him, ‘cause I don’t need to! If we were in a relationship than yeah, I would’ve told him about it. Again, honesty is key.

Okay, great. Glad she and I are still good friends. I can sleep happily tonight. Yessss.  

EDIT: Easter Shenanigans (oh gawd, no)

The fact I made out with my close friend’s ex is still making me feel weird. I regret downing a stranger’s roofie shot. drinking every round that her ex got for us, and golfing in his backyard at 3 o’clock in the morning trying to aim for his neighbor’s window. I should not have won that Wii bowling game against him and hung out on the mattress in the balcony under the stars. Gawdamn you stars. I literally made out behind her back when she was also spending the night out his place. They’ve been broken up for a year now and she is happily in a relationship with someone else in Manhattan. Okay, I’m telling myself I didn’t do anything wrong. 

I guess this isn’t weird. Right? Okay, maybe if we were only making out then things wouldn’t have felt too weird, but we did some weird shit in bed and I feel like I’ve ruined a lot of things. But then again, the guy I went on a roadtrip last week sort of confessed his feelings for me and I want to make an effort to like him more or maybe I already like him. Not sure. In a way, I also feel as if I went behind his back and ducked under the cover with my friend’s ex. 

Awkward. Awkward. Awkward. If she wasn’t my close friend, I wouldn’t have given a flying fuck about it.


G’morning! I recently finished painting this for a local band in Binghamton called STRANGE APPEAL. They just released a new album called “Through Thick and Thick” which is why I decided to paint it like this. 

My friends in QuarterYellow Studios, reBOLD Binghamton from the university, and I are trying to add more spice to the upcoming MuralFest in May. We might get Strange Appeal to play a set and have QYS people do some live painting alongside the muralists. Who knows. 

Anywho, hope y’all dig my painting. You can check out more here on my facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/grapefruiteyes

Today will be a good day! My friend from Brooklyn is coming down to visit so come hangggg with us crazies at Belmar tonight! Also, the trip to Ithaca the other day was amazing! Will talk more about it later. Peace.


Wow, I had a wonderful weekend! Shot an awesome artist and a new friend, Eleni. Did a few regular portraits and digitally manipulated conceptual shoots. It was her first time modeling infront of the camera and I think she did a spectacular job!

Let me know if any of you would like to model or want to get portraits done for your portfolio (yes, even if you’re a stranger browsing through the Binghamton tag on Tumblr). Modeling experience not needed, I have no preferences when it comes to physical appearance — I work with anyone enthusiastic, so just do it anyway ‘cause you never know! 

Spent two whole days just chilling with different friends, read a book at the library, gave violin lessons, spent the night at my other bar buddy’s place (third time spending the night at his place without his family knowing, but I think his father knows now. Oops.)

Source : meltingzebra
Yesterday, I became a cigarette smoker and here’s why and nothing I did that day made me particularly good. It was just an act and I passed it off as a good deed when in fact, there was nothing good about the things that circulated in my head during the act. 
Well, let me start from the beginning here. Right after work, I did a lot of thinking on my way home and then realized I haven’t done anything special for my mom for awhile. I took my mom out to downtown Binghamton and suggested we eat at Galaxy’s, Zona, Lost Dog, Chris’s Diner, or anything good and local. We strolled up and down Court Street and State Street until she came across China One at the corner. “Mom, you had their food a few times already. Don’t you want to try something new?” She still insisted on going there. I mean, I wanted it to be her day, so I obviously wasn’t going to argue. She claimed that China One is the only delivery place in the area that serves proper pork and that’s what she wanted. Their proper pork drenched in their now diluted sauce and overbearing amount of mushrooms. I ordered two small plates (our stomach tells us they’re equivalent to a medium-large size). We both sat by the window—not that we had any other options considering the space only allowed for tables to line up against the glass panes.Well, my friendly mother had accidentally allowed herself a generous, but quick exchange of eye contact with this homeless man who was just walking outside. My back was facing where he was coming from and as soon as he appeared in my sight, I had a very bad feeling he was going to turn the corner and go straight for the entrance. No surprise, he did what I had imagined. The door opened, I was still facing down on my plate, when a foul smell wafted towards our table and then his legs caught up to the smell. A very raspy voice greeted us. I looked up. The man on the other side of the glass had now appeared on our side of the glass…infront of me. Mom and I greeted him back and at the moment, I already knew I was going to have to get my wallet out and give him spare change. However, it wasn’t spare change or a buck or two that he wanted. He asked me to buy him the biggest plate of food I could get for him. Problem was, I didn’t have enough cash to cover such expense. I took a quick glimpse outside the window and the first thing that I saw was the ATM sign. Okay, what an obvious signal. I walked across the street and withdrew 40 bucks and then estimated that I would still have 30 left after treating him (thanks China delivery shops for not accepting cards unless if I buy food enough to feed like three people). When I walked back in, I generously asked him if he’s decided what he wanted for dinner. Anything plentiful was all he wanted, so I ordered the same food that I was eating: pork and mushrooms, but large to satiate the man’s water filled tummy. The woman at the counter awkwardly avoided eye contact with me. Wasn’t sure if she felt bad for him, or me, or both, or thought I was too vulnerable to avoid this charitable act. Before the arrival of his meal, he asked if he could join our table. Well, I’ve eaten food and had drinks with a few homeless folks, and it’s not bad at all. I gestured him to our table thinking that this was his last request. Turns out I was wrong; as the lady carefully placed his food on his table, he turned to me and asked me to help him pay for his percocet because some dude robbed him a while back and butchered his thumb. I looked down at his thumb and yup, the man wasn’t fibbing. Thirty bucks still sits in my wallet I thought, another 10 wouldn’t hurt.
He accepted the money and regaled (tragically) us with his life story. I had to decipher the words that escape through the many teeth gaps in his mouth, but from what I’ve gathered, it appears that he’s the one to blame for this current situation. Selfishness had threw him into the American poverty (honestly, even I’m not too far off from the ledge). His family sounds pretty well-off, and it’s pretty apparent as to why they had neglected him, but regardless of how much of an ass he may have made himself into, I feel like the family should still help clean up his mess. Or not? They’re humans with emotional limitations afterall. He was a point shooter at Syracuse University back in the 70s and that is all you need to know about this man. His wife and daughter are doing well, thanks for wondering. Then the story ended with his mother’s death last week. He teared up a bit, but then the first bite of the food seemed to have flicked that part of the memory away. At the same time, I was wolfing down on my food because I was worried that he would beg me for more money if I didn’t scoop myself away from the place soon enough. Unfortunately, I had enough left on my plate for him to ask me another favor. A pack of cigarettes. The “good kind” he said. Frustration had started to boil my veins a bit, but I maintained self composure on the surface. However, mom picked up on the frustration through my facade and constantly whispered “don’t be frustrated with this man” in Japanese to me. Yesterday was my mother’s day and I wanted to devote my time and money for her. The homeless man basically took that away from me and there I was…with my mom asking me not to get frustrated. Of course, it was her day, I had promised to do exactly what I’m told. I buried this frustration to the very core of my mind, which had later bursted out when I lit my first store bought cigarette at my friend’s fire party that night. CVS was a few stores down from us. I got up and made another errand for this despondent man. On my way there, a friend called and gave me an earful about her event that wasn’t coming together quite well. Multiple things occupied my brain at the front counter that I don’t remember how I picked the pack. I looked down at the box in my hand after when I had already made the exit and immediately cringed when I realized that I bought the menthol kind. No man I know smokes a fucking menthol, but then I told myself, “he can’t complain. HE CANNOT COMPLAIN” but just as I thought, this unkempt mendicant sends me back for the right pack. Mom came with me and we clearly had a chance to ditch and run off, but guess what?! I found myself back to CVS and back out with a Malboro light in my hand—marched back to the restaurant, pretended to brush off my frustration and then walked back in. I placed the pack next to him, patted his back and left. 
Mom smiled. 
She’s such a good woman. Despite the actual deed I’ve done, the magnitude of her kindness is far greater than mine. She’s cold to me half of the time and it’s evident where she expends her kind energy: downtrodden strangers. 
What was I left with? Down 30 bucks, and a pack of menthol cigarettes. What am I going to do with this pack? Smoke it all, of course. This experience birthed the smoker within me. I went to my friend’s fire fest in the backyard. Watched the guys jump over the fire while I stood with my friends, staring right at the fire with a glass of Black Velvet in my hand and a freshly lit cigarette lightly wedged between my lips.Frustration sweeps off the “good” in good deeds and the action becomes meaningless. Yesterday evening, a few hours before I headed out to my friend’s backyard Fire Festival, I spent $30 on a homeless man knowing that I’m pretty damn broke, but I’m still not a good person because frustration consumed me in the end. Homeless man: 1Me: 0
PS - I figured Maverick would help me not get addicted to smoking as I’ve heard they’re truly cheap and disgusting. Quite frankly, smoking in general doesn’t appeal to me, so why does it matter which brand I get? I’m done after this pack. 

Yesterday, I became a cigarette smoker and here’s why and nothing I did that day made me particularly good. It was just an act and I passed it off as a good deed when in fact, there was nothing good about the things that circulated in my head during the act. 

Well, let me start from the beginning here. Right after work, I did a lot of thinking on my way home and then realized I haven’t done anything special for my mom for awhile. I took my mom out to downtown Binghamton and suggested we eat at Galaxy’s, Zona, Lost Dog, Chris’s Diner, or anything good and local. We strolled up and down Court Street and State Street until she came across China One at the corner. “Mom, you had their food a few times already. Don’t you want to try something new?” She still insisted on going there. I mean, I wanted it to be her day, so I obviously wasn’t going to argue. She claimed that China One is the only delivery place in the area that serves proper pork and that’s what she wanted. Their proper pork drenched in their now diluted sauce and overbearing amount of mushrooms. I ordered two small plates (our stomach tells us they’re equivalent to a medium-large size). We both sat by the window—not that we had any other options considering the space only allowed for tables to line up against the glass panes.

Well, my friendly mother had accidentally allowed herself a generous, but quick exchange of eye contact with this homeless man who was just walking outside. My back was facing where he was coming from and as soon as he appeared in my sight, I had a very bad feeling he was going to turn the corner and go straight for the entrance. No surprise, he did what I had imagined. The door opened, I was still facing down on my plate, when a foul smell wafted towards our table and then his legs caught up to the smell. A very raspy voice greeted us. I looked up. The man on the other side of the glass had now appeared on our side of the glass…infront of me. Mom and I greeted him back and at the moment, I already knew I was going to have to get my wallet out and give him spare change. 

However, it wasn’t spare change or a buck or two that he wanted. He asked me to buy him the biggest plate of food I could get for him. Problem was, I didn’t have enough cash to cover such expense. I took a quick glimpse outside the window and the first thing that I saw was the ATM sign. Okay, what an obvious signal. I walked across the street and withdrew 40 bucks and then estimated that I would still have 30 left after treating him (thanks China delivery shops for not accepting cards unless if I buy food enough to feed like three people). When I walked back in, I generously asked him if he’s decided what he wanted for dinner. Anything plentiful was all he wanted, so I ordered the same food that I was eating: pork and mushrooms, but large to satiate the man’s water filled tummy. 

The woman at the counter awkwardly avoided eye contact with me. Wasn’t sure if she felt bad for him, or me, or both, or thought I was too vulnerable to avoid this charitable act. Before the arrival of his meal, he asked if he could join our table. Well, I’ve eaten food and had drinks with a few homeless folks, and it’s not bad at all. I gestured him to our table thinking that this was his last request. Turns out I was wrong; as the lady carefully placed his food on his table, he turned to me and asked me to help him pay for his percocet because some dude robbed him a while back and butchered his thumb. I looked down at his thumb and yup, the man wasn’t fibbing. Thirty bucks still sits in my wallet I thought, another 10 wouldn’t hurt.

He accepted the money and regaled (tragically) us with his life story. I had to decipher the words that escape through the many teeth gaps in his mouth, but from what I’ve gathered, it appears that he’s the one to blame for this current situation. Selfishness had threw him into the American poverty (honestly, even I’m not too far off from the ledge). His family sounds pretty well-off, and it’s pretty apparent as to why they had neglected him, but regardless of how much of an ass he may have made himself into, I feel like the family should still help clean up his mess. Or not? They’re humans with emotional limitations afterall. 

He was a point shooter at Syracuse University back in the 70s and that is all you need to know about this man. His wife and daughter are doing well, thanks for wondering. 

Then the story ended with his mother’s death last week. He teared up a bit, but then the first bite of the food seemed to have flicked that part of the memory away. At the same time, I was wolfing down on my food because I was worried that he would beg me for more money if I didn’t scoop myself away from the place soon enough. Unfortunately, I had enough left on my plate for him to ask me another favor. A pack of cigarettes. The “good kind” he said. Frustration had started to boil my veins a bit, but I maintained self composure on the surface. However, mom picked up on the frustration through my facade and constantly whispered “don’t be frustrated with this man” in Japanese to me. 

Yesterday was my mother’s day and I wanted to devote my time and money for her. The homeless man basically took that away from me and there I was…with my mom asking me not to get frustrated. Of course, it was her day, I had promised to do exactly what I’m told. I buried this frustration to the very core of my mind, which had later bursted out when I lit my first store bought cigarette at my friend’s fire party that night. 

CVS was a few stores down from us. I got up and made another errand for this despondent man. On my way there, a friend called and gave me an earful about her event that wasn’t coming together quite well. Multiple things occupied my brain at the front counter that I don’t remember how I picked the pack. I looked down at the box in my hand after when I had already made the exit and immediately cringed when I realized that I bought the menthol kind. No man I know smokes a fucking menthol, but then I told myself, “he can’t complain. HE CANNOT COMPLAIN” but just as I thought, this unkempt mendicant sends me back for the right pack. Mom came with me and we clearly had a chance to ditch and run off, but guess what?! I found myself back to CVS and back out with a Malboro light in my hand—marched back to the restaurant, pretended to brush off my frustration and then walked back in. I placed the pack next to him, patted his back and left. 

Mom smiled. 

She’s such a good woman. Despite the actual deed I’ve done, the magnitude of her kindness is far greater than mine. She’s cold to me half of the time and it’s evident where she expends her kind energy: downtrodden strangers. 

What was I left with? Down 30 bucks, and a pack of menthol cigarettes. What am I going to do with this pack? Smoke it all, of course. This experience birthed the smoker within me. I went to my friend’s fire fest in the backyard. Watched the guys jump over the fire while I stood with my friends, staring right at the fire with a glass of Black Velvet in my hand and a freshly lit cigarette lightly wedged between my lips.

Frustration sweeps off the “good” in good deeds and the action becomes meaningless. Yesterday evening, a few hours before I headed out to my friend’s backyard Fire Festival, I spent $30 on a homeless man knowing that I’m pretty damn broke, but I’m still not a good person because frustration consumed me in the end. 

Homeless man: 1
Me: 0

PS - I figured Maverick would help me not get addicted to smoking as I’ve heard they’re truly cheap and disgusting. Quite frankly, smoking in general doesn’t appeal to me, so why does it matter which brand I get? I’m done after this pack. 

Saturday weird face #selfie

Saturday weird face #selfie


Photos I’ve taken recently. Mostly in Binghamton, except for the Somerton Suitcase in Long Island. 


Do you know who I look up to right now? This man right here! ALEX YANES. He’s basically a three dimensional street muralist and I’d totally love it if my city would invest in this guy to do some sick art installation in the blandest, but most exposed part of downtown Binghamton. 

So much respect for this artist. Imagine throwing yourself in a room covered with his work; every inch of the wall occupied by bright colors and contours of these fun characters. I would be insanely happy all the freaking time and that happiness would never wear out unless if I’m terribly craving for Chipotle or something. If I were rich, I would totally pay this man to run a workshop plus have him hire a lot of apprentices to help add visual life to the darkest towns in America. Yes, I believe the appearance of the environment can affect people’s motivation level.

Show this man some support: https://www.facebook.com/alexyanesart


A while back, I did an impromptu shoot with a relatively new local band called Strange Appeal. They’re running a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for their physical CD release. Sling a buck or two towards their way or even five or more if you want their incentive which includes the band making some bangin’ pancakes for you or even a date with a band member. Mannn, a lot of “or”s in this post. 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/155770097/through-thick-and-thick-strange-appeal

Late night doodle. Turning this into an official painting and also passing the design to Muckles Ink! 
Also, if you digg my work then follow my facebook art junkyard page! https://www.facebook.com/grapefruiteyes

Late night doodle. Turning this into an official painting and also passing the design to Muckles Ink! 

Also, if you digg my work then follow my facebook art junkyard page! 
https://www.facebook.com/grapefruiteyes


My work in progress shots! A little over halfway done with them. Gotta add more and fix a little here and there. 

www.facebook.com/grapefruiteyes

Source : meltingzebra

NICK KUSHNER at JungleScience gallery. He paints all of his paintings with his own blood; a piece of him in every work. Beautiful. 

A wonderful group I met at the Hotel Empire Rooftop in NYC. They dig my work; I dig their vibe. 

A wonderful group I met at the Hotel Empire Rooftop in NYC. They dig my work; I dig their vibe. 

SHOWCASED MY WORK FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER IN NYC

At the Hotel Empire (they shot Sex and the City and Gossip Girl here) by Lincoln Center. So many people came up to me and asked questions about the paintings, they gave me their personal interpretations of my painting which were very very interesting I must say, and so many of them said I had the best work at the pop up art gallery. They even took pictures of me and with me and with me and the painting. Felt like a celebrity pretty much; a few even offered me drinks. It was such a great turn out! The place was packed! Networked with a lot of people and will be getting my shit down to NYC again later this spring. Woo!

The featured jazz band at this event apparently scored for Woody Allen films. I didn’t take much photos, but I will post up a few later this week!