i triumph when i watch trophies
of the others
fall into sweaty smiling palms
like their blood and tears are mine
like i read the same sacred psalms
like i move through the same tunnels, i do
like we once glanced at the same shining spire
like we once stood at the same corner in the zoo
i watched your lips quiver, from a silence to a scream,
and the fruit you now devour
is the shit i feast on in my dreams
i no longer feel the need to watch the clock
when i feel my feet are dragging i just borrow
a pair of wings
through your steady roots and nimble limbs
i live off your heir, i breathe in your aura,
i know your goal is not to goad around admirers
who wants to be a Shepard, who wants to be a sheep
instead you’ve got me running, trucking down the street
to think i could ever feel worthless or weak
i’ve known all along your holy objective;
we become angels and no longer trip on the cracks
in the pavement
it hurts to hate spoiled brat and his big book of blackmail is the only word he can mutter so why is it when i try and speak i can only stutter i hate you
so tight encased in a sea of metropolitan youths and you’re invited and i, unsure if i am, body severed, divided, shaking in the wind i ask two blonde balloons what’s good with them instead
how can one who feels constrained take a crack at sewing together a social commentary when each plunge into the water is set to a short and ticking timer suffocate or get slain by the serpents of brutal rejection can’t live vicariously for too long, stupid, vigor is vital and i need to ingest realness
but then again webs are so weak or at least that’s what one needs to think if they want to fall soft and sweet into a silky enslavement. oh look at you, how you weave your way freely in and out you are tall and strong and incredibly fuck it
slur the words speak the slang and brain cringes can’t look away from all these burnt bridges fuel the flame or no fame, i lie in the rubble of a life corroded by nuclear shame queue the disaster footage!
she sees the world through powdered eyes
and speaks with a sad tongue
scent of fish and salt
i boil and begin to cry
each time she’s sought after
each time she catches one
it’s gills are bleeding!
please let it go.
without a wound i know won’t do
for she drinks the whole ocean
and she swallows it too
was there something i did to you
what’s making us erode
unraveling the yarn on my sweater
because you’re sweaty and always busy
and i quote endless bummer
that asks for more and more
each time we don’t respond
to one another
much of my days lately have been spent wandering or should i say wallowing in the depths of lower manhattan the farther south you go the more mystical it gets the chinese bus stations the pimps and crack heads and mark fisher the weird shit for sale and the overall feeling that you are walking above or below secrets and the sidestreets like pike and division that run into walls and seem to lead to nowhere
today again i was sad so I went to the criminal courthouse and asked if my pink summons was cashed the scruffy asian clerk asking “drinkeen o pissin” “drinking.” and he relieved some of my tension and reminded me i didn’t have to go until april
i left the courthouse and stood outside and this thug in a camel colored coat and biggy smalls beret strolled on by me but said yoooo i heard his voice trail off and his head turned around as i peeked past one of the pillars i gave him a cigarette because he asked for one and told him my name when he asked me what it was
he asked me if i wanted to hang out and told me his ticket was for not wearing a helmet on his bicycle and then i said “im going home” and then he said “you got in goin on” and we parted ways
in the afternoon i ran into reese who was working on a light sculpture the constellations spelt out “life” and enya and i had plastic bags fashioned around our heads and we sat in a couch wrapped in plastic while she had her nails painted a girl told me it was time for a sexual therapy session and told me one should shake their ass every now and again
i drank some coconut water and for the first time in a long time i felt that art is bullshit.
oh, the snow!!! i was working on something so intensely one evening at home espresso that i didn’t even notice the baby powder floating down from the sky and transforming the rugged side streets into heavenly passageways, only when i came out for a cigarette did my eyes widen and i couldn’t help but smile and laugh and run out to the street and dance, and the whole of the neighborhood became a blank slate that we could run our fingers through and draw anything we wanted, vandals became angels and could do no wrong, i was an innocent five year old girl prancing about, marveling at my icy breath.
the other morning i took a walk down delancey to get some breakfast..and on the corner i saw this little boy..he must have been about twelve or a short fourteen..he was in handcuffs, being escorted by two undercover cops into an unmarked car. his look was not even of desperation, it was pure misery, it was a school day, his look was contagious and i wanted to cry.
no, i’m not actually. trying to bribe me to photograph some bullshit story for you by spending time with me, time that is completely and utterly a waste, time that is stale, because there is no emotion left, did you even possess any emotion in the first place? all efforts were so half-ass. it’s like i was a stupid dog in the park we stood by in the summer with melting 99 cent taste e delights and you were trying to throw me bones to do a trick. i could always tell it was this way, but opted to be blind because i was so in awe of you. you were always so elusive, you disappeared, it took a hurricane for me to find the right words to say to you, which were simply “i hope you are okay.” it’s all i wanted to say all that time you fell out of touch.
i should never have said yes, but like a retarded dog, i just wanted to make you happy. you could throw me a bone any day and i would run after it. thinking about you makes me furious, but perhaps i am more angry at myself than at you, how could i be angry at you…
i love him because he is simple, nothing phases him, he is just this boy who drinks and draws and goes to class late every day and holds my hand even if it’s not cold and shakes me in feigned desperation as he moans about leaving because it’s only ten pm but it’s a school night and he has to catch the train…i love him because he is natural, he has ease, it’s like street ballet…. and he has beautiful hands, those of an artist, those that are callused and olive colored and these strong arms and beautiful eyebrows. and when he kisses me and stops to smile and then kisses me again. but then there will be days when i feel horrible and sad and i am terrified he will abandon me like all others have done.
the other day i assisted someone on his collaborative shoot for a young designers project….such a peppy and energized being..it was really inspiring and refreshing to see his mind work..he shows what he is feeling and thinking and puts it all on the table for you in sketches and slideshows so you get really excited about it..he teaches me how to do the lighting setups which are quite clever..everything has to be SO precise..and that is why no body likes me because i am SO picky, he says..
i like you. and everyone else does too. if it wasn’t for artists like you there would be nothing to admire in this world. and i find it sad how you are almost, dare i say, a rarity.
you make me so happy that all i want to do is kiss you and cry when you leave me baby take it EASY i don’t mean to sound sleazy but tease me i don’t want it if it’s that easy.
i can’t take writing seriously anymore.
i realized how intangible it is especially if not written in ink and even if i did choose to keep a journal that too would easily turn to dust or be lost or forgotten..i could drop it into a puddle of water or lose it on the subway and it would be just the same as someone swiping your laptop off your floorboards after breaking through the foolishly unbarred window of your old ground floor apartment.
but it’s friends that push me along and have compelled me once again to spill out my heart and soul into words…from the sing songy natalie kucken with her type-writer poetry plastered all over the walls of her bedroom (who, by the way, reminds me so much of my childhood best friend alayna that i desperately want them to meet) to the whimsical enya darling (her name means “little fire” or “kernel” in german)..who showed me her notes about her lover in paris.. she has been scribbling passionately in all these flippant paper journals..and i can hear natalie suarez’s sultry voice in my head singing factory loving machine..over and over again..THE BEAUTY OF FRIENDS!!