Summertime wintertime in densest el nino washington here on the potomac
À bout de souffle
The summertime wintertime in densest el Nino Washington here on the
Potomac cleaning cleaning the homely scum of the sink shitty shit in the
bowl and getting down on the scabby knees from being aggressive n the rub
the brown rug before the fireplace. i don't really need the fireplace
today -- it is an absurdity just like the dust floating in my air
passages. Watching Breathless on the telly. misspelling simple words
simple ideas and putting off the easy task of writing the letter of intent
to Hopkins to get that place in the master's program. funny, Hopkins does
not have an MFA writing program. they do not so much consider writing a
fine art so much as an art -- good for them. one of the oldest. rejected
the ivy -- doing heroin instead, anyway. and the people i was with almost
missed new years -- almost forgot about time with the mousy ivy, the saucy
femmes tout en noir, the large vat of simmering meatballs and nacho nacho
taco shell melody. asshole bartender -- some kind of complex.
and there is the time of the day when it is already spent and you call of
the dogs and make sure you're set up for the next day for another time
with other people. did i miss not kissing this year? no. did i miss not
fighting? no. being with the people was all it was about this year.
seeing the two sets of lover kiss. good enough for this bachelor.
want the scene from harry met sally. want the tuxedo and the LBD, want
the cold NY apt and the balcony or the roof. want the brownstone. want
the flights to Paris. want the seine. want the metroliner and the
washboard stomach and the dresses that press and pull and move and
restrict and the touch of lips, the sharing of wine through the lips.
the saline solution of love. the movement of timespace through the veins
and out the skin in a musky agent. the attraction unexplained or
explained matters not. the soft but firm flesh at the hip, the smooth
hairless skin looked at scrutinized -- there is always a peach fuzz. it
can be seen after the body is lovingly painted in water-soluble paints
under a high sun.
This small apartment. Can't see through the bay windows. The rental
company never has them come to clean. Things break. I read about
schizophrenia. Symptoms look to me like enlightenment in a small
apartment in a small townhouse on a small park in a small neighborhood in
a swampy city in the USA.
as the night affects not the room but inks out the windows i listen to
music telling me it'll be okay. the screen on the telly is blue. the
VCR isn't feeding tape. if it did it would be the film _Breathless._
new york herald tribune! new york herald tribune!
bugatti said, "cars were made to go not to stop"
i talked to a photographer today who told me how to sue based on
copyright infringement. the song is over. i believe it's going to be
okay because it always has been before and 1998 is cake. and at least i
am not hearing voices.
