to banksy: 13 February 2012
TO BANKSY: I want everything that’s in your mind, I need a revolution, I need something secret and important to give me a purpose, to show me life means something more than surviving. I want it to be mine and…
Good vibrations: 10 November 2011
Good vibrations: black-tipped nails, sweatshirts over dresses, almost finishing a book and starting another, secret uninhabited parts of London that aren’t touristy, cloudy gray mornings with coffee and thick socks and braided hair and alone, wearing the same clothes over…
This high is heavy like the droopy gray sky of my early Tuesday morning: 09 de junio de 2015
This high is heavy like the droopy gray sky of my early Tuesday morning. The sound of the shower stirred me awake at seven, the sky a vast darkness, lightening from navy into a militant, ashy gray. I turned on…
The way he walks: 12 de mayo de 2015
We walked around the city last night after smoking paraguayo, which still had an earthy, thick smell of real marihuana, and the whole time all I could think about was the way he walks and what it says about his…
I wanted to go to El Buen Dios: 05 de marzo de 2015
I realized I never talked about that night last week at my guy friend’s apartment, when I wanted to go to El Buen Dios, because I’ve been there twice and I don’t remember anything from either time (thanks alcohol), but…
Ideas unfolding like morphing lotuses: 28 de noviembre de 2013
Heavy fog reminds me of the ocean, open space spread like butter into infinity, my eternal introspective fire crackling and sparking, ideas unfolding like morphing lotuses, pulsing with the salted waves and provoking that same excitement, the anticipation of future…
Your pupils dilate: 22 de junio de 2013
To be alone is when music slices into your visceral perception. Your pupils dilate, your pupils are massive black suns burning my neurons and sucking my memories away, like lint pulled off clothes from the dryer, or stray hairs from…
Some strange tribute to the genius of man: 24 de diciembre de 2014
It’s 20:00 and I’m sitting on a bench in the warm wind, watching the cars stream past, lights flashing, blinkers clicking, some strange tribute to the genius of man, but abused and forlorn, slave to tall yellow stoplights and the…