Two cougars: one from Brazil, one from Honduras. Extensive plastic surgery. Palm trees. I am faced with my fetish for the basic and I can’t fight it.
Eyes I caught hanging each other on tangling legs or stretching out, taking selfies, a gutter lined with “Mercedes,” “Lexus,” “Infiniti.” It was too much for this cub to walk away without asking blushingly where they’re and now I have to own up to my timidity crashing and burning.
To compensate I can see you at this table of a boutique pizzeria your elite whore buying a large artichoke chicken pizza for $20 “Because,” I think, “if she has an internet presence, she must have hands.” “Because,” I think “This is the shit I think about, knowing you’re a coast away.”
To remember something fondly you have to remember it. I have the memory of a fly. I want to remember my relationships to ex-girlfriends so I can write about them properly but I mostly only remember the parts I am responsible for.
Did something happen to me in New York? After working too many graveyard shifts? Am I cracked now?
I visited a fortune teller in Brooklyn. She told me: This card means you let experience flow through you. Okay. You need to slow down and give them meaning. There’s a woman in your life and you feel she follows you and that you follow her. Me: “No. No, not really.” Later I would realize it’s all true. I don’t take the time to live as presently as it takes to remember.
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She was drinking something and I opened my mouth and she shattered the glass on the pavement, then, crossing the street, screamed at the top of her lungs, all the way to her apartment.
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It’s easy to be me. I wear men’s clothing. I please with urns. Elsewhere I please with ones. Vexxed out. You’re a God, quivering porn star, shy in his mirror. Fear is evil to a doormat. Cities are burning down with desire.