For Seasons, sitting on concrete in tears for no reason, or reasons I don’t understand. It’s for the grey days with rain and clouds, or just the threat or rain when the threat of what could happen is better than what does. The storm cloud that comes out of nowhere, rolls in from the lake, black and looming – a 10-minute window before all hell breaks through. The beautiful hell of laying in my bed with a Dunhill, brutally hot, a lighting storm streaking the sky, the fan mimicking an air conditioner in form but not function, sweating, dreaming, under red lights. Not being able to have the things that I want, or getting the things I want and not being good enough. Looking like but not becoming. Being afraid, terrified of myself, of being noticed me while desperately wanting to be seen.
The holy women, the men who get it.
Manhattans and movies, cheap beer and bloody Mary’s, pub crawls that end in confusion and echo back years later after different paths and failures and hopes and nothing. The clean, precise mistake of missing out. The thing that is still alive.
The red shoes, paint-splattered, track laid down, frozen in fear. Strange Cargo, Blind Faith, Unicorn. Intelligentsia, Joe, I Deal, Octane, H.
Driving in the rain, lost, but knowing everything, Love for Sale. Alone, down a two-way street for once.
For River Euphrates on repeat, waiting for the last T. Hot shots and tall beers, art over money, and feeling the different versions of what could have been. Never doing what feels natural, not being able to say no, only saying no.
Amtrak, airports, subways, Red Line, Purple line, Green line, silver line, Ts, metro, LIRR, Yaris, Focus, Le Sabre, Impala, the M4.
Porcelain, heavy water/I’d rather be sleeping, How Soon is Now, Closer, Alphabet City, Black Bomb, Bloodstain, Hunter, Reason in Remain, Long Long Long, Time Baby III, I’m Free Now, Squalor Victoria, Odd Said the Doe, The Trees, Caramel, I Can’t Stand It, Blue Dress, Like New, Atmosphere, Dissolved Girl, Aftermath, Soon, Prison Girls, Caught a Lite Sneeze, Riverman, How to Disappear Completely.
Hearing my voice, free-form, correcting grammar and mishearing Brian Eno, playing the same 3 songs over and over like a missive to no one who’s listening. Home at dawn, dorms, apartments, sitting on stoops wondering where everything went wrong, or not yet quite right.
And later, fully formed, amorphous but wondering still. Contemplating an imperative, thinking it will never start, knowing that nothing is ever finished, the story is never over.