For those of you who are zygotes in the Bushwick “scene,” Moonchild Von Rogg isn’t just a person, she’s a force–an irrevocable presence in your life once she’s touched it. Moonchild emigrated from Greenpoint, where she perfected the art of good times and dicking around. This prepared her for Bushwick in its pre-bro, pre-mall pre-decline state. She started the short-lived, too real for your deal craze known as corpsing. It was a combination of an instinctive defense mechanism and performance art, wherein you pretended to be dead somewhere in front of a Bushwick landmark. Below, we interview Moonchild about why she left Bushwick.
The Burning Bush: Why did you leave Bushwick?
MCVR: There wasn’t one reason I left, it was a lot of little things that finally just became too much to bear. I had moved to New York eight years prior to leaving, to go to school at FIT. After graduating I got a corporate job that I hated, but it paid really well, and soon I had a swank apt in Greenpoint. But, in time, the hatred of the job overpowered the good pay and I left. Somehow, by the grace of whoever or whatever, I got unemployment, so I maintained my lifestyle for a bit longer. However, I would then fall into the unemployment death trap that is day drinking. That is what led me to Bushwick. I had a friend who had a room available for $600 a month, which was half of what I was paying in GP. Moving to the B would allow me to continue my unemployed drunkenness, and subsequently, also help make me into a pseudo-Bushwick celebrity (I’m a Leo rising, so I live for that shit).
Since all I did was hang out, go around tagging, and say shit like, “I’m a performance artist!” or “I’m high on mushrooms!”. ANYWAYS. I was living with five people in a duplex when I met my boyfriend (at Wreck Room, drunk as fuck, but that’s a different story). Soon we were spending every day together, and then his living situation became unstable. He ended up moving in with me, much to my roommate’s chagrin. After a couple of months, my roommates decided that six people in our place was too much and we needed to move out. At this point, I was fine with this as well, and welcomed the chance to find a place for just the two of us. This was where things got cray. I had no job, and all the money I had was off the books. My boyfriend worked in the food industry and not counting tips only made like 25k a year. To top that off, neither of us had people to be our guarantor. We were fucked.
That was when we decided to explore options outside of Brooklyn (those options being my mother’s place in Florida, my sister in Atlanta, and his family in California). Being almost 30, the last thing I wanted to do was move back in with my family. So when my boyfriend’s father offered him a full time position working for his company, as well as three months rent paid for, it was a welcomed offer. This would be perfect because it would allow me to get sober, and find a job as well. Plus, being a life long raver, SoCal is where all my PLUR dreams could come true. Basically I took the easy way out. I was done struggling, and feeling like I was getting nowhere. Funnily enough, I now live in the middle of nowhere and complain about how I have no friends, so yeah, I guess everything really is what you make of it.
The Burning Bush: What is your most haunting Bushwick memory?
MCVR: The memory of Bushwick that haunts me the most (there are many, but this was by far the worst), actually took place before I ever lived in Bushwick, and right along the border of east W-burg and the bush. Smoking Barrel and myself were taking one of our unemployment walks from Greenpoint to Bushwick to frequent one of our favorite b-wick bars/karaoke jam, the Pine Box. It had been a rough day for me. Bills were due, I was broke, my mom wouldn’t be able to transfer me money for another couple days, and I was in a major pain cave from the night before and just wanted to drink my hangover away (hangs head in first world problem shame).
So we’re walking slash I’m simultaneously having a panic attack thinking nothing worse could possibly occur at this point. Well, I was wrong. What I failed to notice while walking in my Old Navy flip flops was a street sign that had been cut down to a nub and slowly rusted. I stubbed my big toe on said sign so hard, half of my nail came off and blood began to gush everywhere. I LOST IT- I began screaming at the top of my lungs, “FUCK, THIS FUCKING PLACE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!”
At this point I was already at the end of my rope, with mounting rent and bills I could not afford because HBO’s Girls had made Greenpoint into the next “it” BK neighborhood. Now I had physical SIGNS attacking me. I couldn’t ignore it any longer, I would have to move to Bushwick, and forego my luxe Greenpoint life. This was also the beginning of knowing deep inside, that I would soon have to leave NY all together. I knew before I even moved to Bushwick, this would most likely be my last attempt to stay in NY, I just wasn’t ready to give up just yet (I’m sure the alcohol addiction didn’t help with this).
The Burning Bush: What do you miss most about Bushwick?
MCVR: I miss my friends the most, it was rad to be able to walk 5-15 mins and be surrounded by amazing, like-minded, creative people. I also miss all the live music and art the neighborhood had to offer. As well as Wreck Room (R.I.P), 8am warehouse after hours, and obvs the food scene. Also my roommates in B-wick were all (well almost all) really cool and our place was rad (we had a backyard, two living areas, a stoop, AND in unit laundry!).
The Burning Bush: In which Bushwick bar did the most embarrassing thing happen to you?
MCVR: I had many embarrassing, drunken moments in Bushwick. Some that I remember, and many I do not. One I don’t recall was at Anchored Inn, on my 27th b-day. Apparently I blacked out in a back booth. I then proceeded to puke all over the place, and had to be carried out in a “Christ-like manner” or so I was told. Another involved me trying to be a player. I had been talking to two dudes and had invited both to the opening night of The Flat (technically W-burg but whatevs). I assumed one or the other would flake so I might as well invite both. Well I was wrong, and they both showed up. I had to have a friend talk to the one while I would converse with the other. It was weird and awkward and eventually one of them caught on and proceeded to call me on my shit and left. Yikes!
The Burning Bush: Do you ever have nightmares about the neighborhood?
MCVR: Hmm, shockingly I have yet to have a Bushwick nightmare. If I did, I imagine it would involve being trapped in an apartment above the tortilla factory, trying to convince an old piece not to hate fuck/kill me for stalking his life.
Compiled by Genna Rivieccio a.k.a. Smoking Barrel