Last night, alone, I dressed in burgundy velvet splashed with golden leaves and six inch platform stilettos – and I went to the Metropolitan Opera House for the first time.
And it was everything you could possibly imagine it to be…
Since attending opera in August, I’ve been set to go to the Met. I sat in a balcony box seat in a room filled with some of the sweetest sounds on Earth.
I’ve really embraced a certain solitude since one of the most holiest happenings of this life went down two Fridays back. I still have my ordinary clique of boys around, but something ineffable is very, very different.
Anyways, I’ve been talking to a new friend that I recently made who lives in Rome. I have a unique appreciation for him because he’s fluent in three languages. He read some of the poetry I have written in Italian and French, he particularly liked this French one; he said it reminds him of Paul Eluard.
We also started talking about erotica. I write a lot of it, I don’t post it on FollowMeToNYC, not even in my messy mazes of clips to explore. It’s one of those genres that really has to sit where it belongs… for me, that’s usually hand written on a wrinkled piece of loose-leaf left on a hotel pillowcase.
Speaking with my new friend has inspired me to submit a dirty story somewhere. So that’s what I plan to do today. I’m also going to walk to Times Square with the puppies to visit one of the boys stuck working on a Saturday.
Stay blessed beautifuls, spread love.