saturday my apartment finally feels like home.
hot pink dress.
battle with the MTA.
Epstein's for the pre2k premiere.
Savala's dance party.
late night phone calls.
turn out to be meaningless.
sunday did not go as planned.
hungover, at All Saints drinking for free.
DMC (minus the Run)
Doug E. Fresh
Snakes Say Hisss
Dominique Young Unique
second hangover of the day.
paid $53 for a benefit at town hall.
that i never made it to.
no one else is you.
i quit drinking yesterday, around 4:30am.
on my roof.
waiting for the sun to rise.
watching stars move.
smiling with wonder bread.
i quit drinking, again, yesterday, at 4pm.
visiting matt at poets.
eating an apple.
i quit drinking, again, yesterday, at 9:30pm.
after the chrome opening party.
where jr convinced me i should quit tomorrow.
and justin was tending an open bar.
with john cardiel spinning dub.
i quit drinking, again, yesterday, at 10:30pm.
on myrtle ave.
on 3 hours of sleep.
a 5 hour energy.
i quit drinking, again, yesterday, at 11pm.
watching mike bones sing songs about us.
goddamn long hair.
goddamn circle tattoos.
goddamn text messages.
goddamn secret internet blogs.
goddamn bed stuy.
manny mania skate party under the manhattan bridge.
drinking since 2.
ipod wars taken to itunes.
invites to other skate events.
red bull after party at the hotel rivington.
drunk for 8 hours.
boys with long hair speaking other languages.
dylan is my constant.
repeat tomorrow night.
and i sweated out the past weeks worth of alcohol.
orlando slapped a white patch on the inside of my cabinet.
stating, "birth control for roaches".
he said he'd have a mojito for me.
somewhere in mexico.
i hate goddamn mojitos.
i saw a mobile knife sharpening service.
just before i heard bushwick blues.
then randomly sang beast of burden.
escaping reality while watching joanna attempt to make gnocchi from scratch.
in the heat of a 3rd floor prospect heights walk up.
college jeopardy is difficult.
dylan and i both left with asparagus pee.
matt invited me to a nike party on the LES.
jason invited me to public assembly.
caroline was at papacitos happy hour waiting for her laundry to dry.
erik with a k was sitting in traffic, his lady friend wants to go peach picking.
mom was worried.
it was the last day of my internship.
i could feel everything that made me happy slip away this week.
one more month.
Matt is hooking me up with a board on thursday.
i told him that i really need one so that i could get to the bars/subway faster.
he likes how i think.
i had a really great night last night.
when you feel so loved by everyone else,
memories of the past 2 years sting a bit less.
things happen at night.
with all of your clothes.
all of your lights.
like unsuspecting words from old friends.
plans with new ones.
be turned off.
lose the buzz.
i'm drunk again.
well, i suppose i did take my dog for a walk to a hole in the wall turkeys nest.
and i do suppose that i ordered one PBR.
but i did not suspect that guy with the weird name and weird belt buckle would buy me another.
i also didn't expect him to leave and return with an order of perogi for me, after i mentioned to him that that was what he should have for dinner.
how sweet of him to have the bacon put on the side.
he said, "i suspected you were a vegetarian".
he sat to my left.
sat to my right.
and bought my next beer.
jason and dylan bonded madly.
he lives on the UWS. works in the music industry. plays guitar in a band. he had rehearsal tonight in willyb.
his eyes were captivating.
his hair, curly.
he knew about art therapy, and asked me questions.
it made me feel so proud.
he watched dylan while i went to the bathroom.
and the other guy left.
walk through mccarren.
I should have had dinner.
I feel the train rumble beneath my heavy eyelids.
Mosquitos and bums on bunches under tarps.
Dredded foreigner asks for a smoke. I shake my head and smile. Don't you know there are more important things going on in my head than my goddamn curse to be kind? Fuck off. I am waiting for my heart to be shattered into a million more pieces. Couldn't you hear it when you approached?
I walk to the strand. To read poetry written about me. And about all of the other hers. I somehow can't help to still feel proud seeing his name on the shelf.
Unanswered texts. Game over.
Time for another drink.
i want a farm.
i think that owners of vanity license plates are generally fun people.
there are ashes in my hair.
there is blood on my knees.
laying face down on my mother's kitchen floor.
feeling the pull.
ignoring the push.
the germs in the light trying to reach for the ceiling fan
please do not put cat on the piano.
the infiltrating music from the front bar
where am i?
LES. attorney street.
but really, where am i?
i wore too much eye make-up.
because i knew it would keep me from crying.
i hate squatting.
i love him.
with his hair parted on the side.
and his friends with their pill problems and baldness.
one act plays that drag on forever.
i am not strong.
i lay a box full of memories upon my kitchen table.
next to his beer.
this is my proof.
the past 5 hours have been somber.
i already did this.
4 months ago.
drove to work in a daze. through the haze.
in slow motion.
for our special day.
i wore it with abandon.
as i waited.
just like i always waited.
just like i always waited.
and soon enough.
it was covered in tear drops.
i was being followed home by a strange man.
i was turning down different streets.
i got a free slice of pizza.
i am forever.
it's always been too easy for you.
the feeling of holding my breath while moving through strange buildings.
my alarm clock goes off at 1800.
but i haven't slept.
because cell phones are the devil.
i have fought the good fight.
the sad fight.
the hopeful fight of all fucking fights.
trembling in my sheets.
with scents so soothing.
thinking about the peace corps.
thinking about car dealerships.
thinking about 2 years.
i am weak.
coyote blood has killed me.
everyone is different.
especially when it comes to priorities.
making the time.
what does it mean?
it means everything in the present.
newport folk festival yesterday.
sharon jones. avett brothers. richie havens. elvis perkins. marching bands on top of a fort. the swell season. ed sharpe.
near perfect day.
with tropical gangster hand signals.
dreaded jacob at lefty's, with his story about peacock feather bouquets for moms to be.
on a blanket in the sun.
with a gigantic straw hat, and a phone that has rung more today than any other day.
from 200 miles away.
there's always next year.