I bumped my head the night we met and never saw things the same way again.
The second day I saw him, we walked down a boardwalk along a salt-scented Brooklyn coastline. He wore sweatpants and a baseball hat and we talked about him being first generation and me having left for a decade. We comment on the different shades of green blossoms in each other’s eyes. He kisses me at Cony Island, on the subway and all other kinds of pubic places. Continue reading
So I dumped the Frenchman. We parted with respect to irreconcilable differences. He’ll always be the lover who brought me gifts every time we were together and made me art when we were apart. I’ll think of him fondly.
In other news, I spent eight weeks recently floating on a boat. I sailed down the eastern seaboard, around a few islands, then back up to the city where I continue to freeze. Part of my love affair with Australia is based on the Queensland weather; but there are so many other parts. One part, who in fact, will be arriving on my doorstep in just a tad over 24hours.
My recent spat of heart breaking and boat riding taught me a few things. Considering that I feel all I can ask from of life is knowledge – this will appease me for awhile. I’m looking very forward to my next excursion to Tahiti, where I will isolate myself in an over water hut and write until my fingers fall off.
The last night I saw you was the only night my dog ever pissed on my floor. She did it while you were here doing drugs in my bathroom that were delivered by my dealer in a silver BMW about twenty minutes ago.
These are things that happen in Manhattan.
I’ve known you for almost two years now and you have begged and pleaded and played on the weakness my divorce cut me with and broke both of my knees.
I’ve given you a lot. Too much. Things I will never get back. Things you will never deserve. But if you ever thought I would give you the number of my delivery service – you played yourself. Continue reading
you see. when he
and i combine it
is like tidal wave
pulling and pushing
and grabbing and
wet. i stay. remain
starts to be a style.
my midtown hips
his brooklyn hits;
when we are t(w)o-
gether. gathering rise
and sets. methods
i keep him. sun up,
sun down. cyclic
circle moving each
time he slaps in-
side with just me.
we stay. private.
with one. remaining.
“Got some dirt on my shoulder, could you brush it off for me?”
Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.
There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret password you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.
FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.