cut like you
work. Continue reading
cut like you
work. Continue reading
Don’t get me wrong, Cony Island all day. But I built my life in midtown. I move so much, that it’s important I make use of where I am while I’m there; which just so happens to be upstairs from a 24-hour wonderland.
I’m boycotting Brooklyn for a hot second. It’s just about summer here in New York City, which is the best time of year in one of the best places on Earth. I watched the sunrise this morning before dancing on the river’s edge. I wandered through my local farmer’s market and smiled at all of the vendors I see every Wednesday. I sat in front of the north facing glass wall of my apartment with the sun on my face and words spilling from my fingers. Continue reading
when we met
we extended. i taught
and we learned
while he swore. that. this
only happens once.
i chewed my nails
and i bit too short.
i curled into 4am
silence. and he was
the one p/eace/iece
be(cause) the way i
shake. he k(new)
that. when i stretched
into the sun it was
like i could never reach
far. enough. the style
i chose to stop; inside.
there is so much
loud noise every time
i hold my breath.
when i exhale
he always appears
This is upsetting for a spectrum of reasons. However, I feel myself retreating to the safety of where I cut the world off and fall into a meditative state of complete nothingness.
There are a lot of reasons I suck at being a girlfriend. However, I find my greatest issue in feigning relationships with the human species is the anthropomorphic perception of time.
I’m hard and fast. Life is short, experience is precious. If I start having experiences with someone, like I had with Anthony recently, for example, or even the Frenchman – I can’t comprehend why these experiences don’t occur as frequently as possible.
As much as I’m in love with being in love, I also feel like love is a fucking joke and probably not in the cards for me this walk around. I take “in or out” to a manic level that most Earth dwellers cannot comprehend.
It’s pushing four in the morning. I’m drinking vodka sodas, looking at the east river out my window and blasting Elastic Heart in my ears. I’m not sure why I do these things that pull my heart strings to a vague sense of torture.
Sometimes I think it’s because I’ll never heal from my marriage breakdown. I certainly won’t as long as I keep spending time with people who only give a shit about me on their clock.
I don’t want to change anything about mySelf. I’d like to stop trying to find someone to love though. It’s not even like I’m stomping streets trying to find it. It’s just that when I meet someone who is extremely special to me, I take it too seriously.
I’m going to try to stop doing that.
We made up. That was the worst fight ev-ER.
I don’t fight with anyone. I leave. My boyfriend refers to me as a “flight risk”. That is a bit of my mantra.
There’s more than one reason that I have two passports.
I’ve been in Brooklyn since Friday. Later on today, when I’m done with work, I’m going to write filthy stories about Cony Island.
I’ll post one tonight.
There’s something about Anthony and I that is utterly divine. We’re never allowed to fight again. We promised.
The clap of our argument was beyond. There were bad things said and I was fed-exing notebooks of words.
And then we spent four days making up. We made up all over the place. My apartment, his place, the back of a yellow cab, Cony Island beach, the boardwalk, various Brooklyn sidewalks…
For me to have gotten as upset as I did, I can only assume he’s forever.
When the two of us get together, my life starts. I occupy my time in between with Writing and skyscrapers and all of these things I came back to Manhattan for. But when he and I are within a physical proximity of one another, everything changes.
I have to wash my face and go to work. I’m currently in my panties, wearing his shirt, slightly hung over.
No matter. I’ve got this.