Friday, December 10, 2010


it is not that i thought that december would be dull, it is just that i did not think i would constantly be throwing on clothes and running out the door, dropping my telephone at 4a and smashing it to bits, wearing lace tights and motorcycle boots on the back of a ducati, dancing and drinking margaritas, swinging in a hammock in the cold watching the stars, writing stories and studying french til ballet and now going to nyc right after christmas only to return on new yrs eve for a smash of a party and go to work probably still buzz skulled on champagne. super point i suppose is that day by day fashion photos only lasted a week cause hell that takes some good time. i would rather update about adventure and dreams and all the doom and gloom. and kittens and french film.

sailor is staring up through the skylight right now, mewing at mustache who is stretched lazily across the glass on the roof. i could tell you about this dream i had where this very sweet blonde boy with little green eyes loved me for a few days and then he started to turn green and quit talking and in this very pretty scene, something as pretty as animal crackers and heart shaped balloons, i said, youre addicted to drugs, aren't you. like this tremendous white light wanted to be but it was just static and white noise blank blank blank and i know i have had this talk talk talk before, in days less than dreams, and it was just as dreary then too.

know no secrets. i forget them all. yrs later when you run into me again on some street in some city and we say, my dont you look pretty!? you will say something about such and such and i wont remember and we will get a drink and talk about weathered and fractured stories and i will try to fill in the pretty parts, because they are all i remember, and you will pt in the drab black parts and give reasons for the way they were like this, and i still wont remember. we will go to some motorcycle bar and drink more and dance to fleetwood mac and see each other the next day. and the next day like a dream we made with our eyes and hearts and the next day, that is the day when the static and white noise comes. we lay in the grass or on the bed and cannot think of what to say, skirts and knee socks and jeans and your shirt on the floor and we look at each other and know we have seen this some place before and we still cannot think of what to say. so we smoke cigarettes and try to talk about a book we think books are like lines like telephones easy

but we battle because we are unhappy that your body and words i swear ive heard them before and my body and words you just cant deal with it right now so we put the other half on we have mortar and cardboard to make each other muffled. we smoke cigarettes and put on our coats we walk and we still dont know what to say but we know at this point that the static is coming like a tremendous wave over the trees and we are too tired to walk faster or drown in our words instead. we are done with valentines.

next day. sunshine quite white light empty room. next day same next day same next day even better next day the weather is different, your kitten with the broken leg is jumping gates and your friends are out next day same next day next day next day you just dont remember again. you swear you should remember this one thing, but you threw it in the sea on the ship home, back to the tropical rooms with glass walls. might as well have peacocks eating their plumes in the yards there is so much decadence and beauty. it is easy to forget.

then youre on a street in a city you helped construct with will and youre running again and you run in again and he's in a coat and grey boots and says, wow you look prettier than the last time i saw you and you just cannot remember when that was because the world was just sprinting on its orbit these last yrs or so and youve been running just ahead and just as soon and youre running now and you forget the reason but you know you should not stop, so you have coffee instead and you dont dance and you forget why you try to remember if he made you laugh and you just cannot connect and it is probably because the mortar is still wet and those cardboard walls still muffle sound and it is like talking to someone under glass through a port hole while he is swimming and being very pretty but all the movement and color all the words and body is just this apparent distraction and you wonder what he is hiding. because you forgot the secret completely. and you really have to go now.

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