I always have jokes about Brooklyn. How me traveling outside of Manhattan involves me “leaving the island”. The fact that my world is a cozy four-block radius pocket of midtown; anywhere that I can’t get to on foot is essentially far.
Seldom, I cross waters to visit Brooklyn. I have tribal members in the Williamsburg and Green Point areas. But truth be told, I don’t visit as much as I should. Continue reading
Namaste blog tribe
Happy Friday all! I think I fell in love again this week. Since being out of a ten year marriage over five years now, I realize I fall in love a lot.
I had a conversation with Rijn about this during her visit, we agreed it’s the Poet in me. Poets are always falling in love, when else can you really write poetry?
I don’t think it’s hard to fall in love, it’s maintaining it that’s the trick. To do that, it has to be a perfectly balanced relationship. I’ve never had that. However, there’s a new love who fell from the sky three days ago who seems unique and wonderful and makes me feel peaceful and erratic at the same time. Continue reading
Namaste blog tribe
She won… of course she won…
It feels like yesterday that I was stomping the streets of Berlin with one of my favorite people in the world, the one and only – Ms. Rijn Collins. Whether we’re having French food cocktail nights in the western suburbs of Melbourne or clinking celebratory cocktails at the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue, as we did yesterday, there are no words to encompass my love for this woman. Continue reading
“Thanks for not having sex with me.”
There’s nothing quite like a 27 year old lover scorned. We started sleeping together when he was 24. I ended it recently for someone who is 52 and speaks French. Someone who appreciates shoes, smells like tangerines and tastes like vanilla.
Certain things are worth the sacrifice.
I’m on the corner of 44th Street and 3rd Avenue at 8 in the morning, when midtown is just as hopping as the meat packing district at 4am. Every creed and color pours up and down avenues, in and out of transport hubs. There’s so many of us, it’s like no one even notices each other.
We kiss on the cheek in the amicable style we’re each trying to adjust to. This is what it means to make friends with someone you used to fuck. I’m 37 years old, I haven’t done this to date. I’m still uncertain that I’m going to start now.
There’s something beautiful to me about standing in the center of Manhattan wearing sweatpants I slept in with messy bed hair. You never know where life will take you.
The cold February prick of winter stings my cheeks as I turn to walk home. I try to be a good host and always escort guests to their destination. That’s part of why I love living in my neighborhood, there’s 24-hour transportation that can literally get you anywhere in the world. That’s how I ended up living in Australia for ten years.
I originally left New York City for love and I came back because of heartbreak. Both times I was saved, for different reasons. There was at least one solid lesson that came of it all, anyways; your heart only breaks once.
Namaste blog tribe
I’ve been fucking with this blah-g for six and a half years now.
That’s a hot minute.
When I started it, I was at the end of a nine year marriage what was one of the saddest, most neglectful relationships I’ve ever endured. Then I left Australia after about a decade, and came back to a city I had to escape from a very long time ago for reasons outside of these parts.
And she saved me, Manhattan picked me up, brushed me off and gave me a chance to use the only resource I have beyond my every day being – ink – and build a life for myself in midtown, Writing. Continue reading