im home. for the first time since august. and the last time til… hmmm. who knows. could be may! for a best friend’s wedding.
home is comfortable. home makes me miss a simple life. but after a few too-simple days, i get small town blues. i dont belong here and never did, and not much is going to change that. so i come for a few days too many, then run off to nyc and philly. was in ny yesterday for the first time since august as well.
oh i missed it. the people the people the people. sf often feels like a ghost town to me. where are all the people the people the people! running you over, dressing so well, being so completely insane in broad daylight, trying to get your attention, trying to look the other way, selling and buying and coming and going. the people of nyc. i feel so at home THERE. i feel like a stranger to the masses and the city’s favorite daughter all at the same time, and it feels like bliss.
i might live there again. it was so cold and i hated that, but i was too distracted to be cold for long. i only had one meal there and it was one of the most superb meals ive had in months. i eat well there. i drink well and too much there. i dress well there. i shop well and too much there. i have friends who are too busy for me there. i am too busy for my friends there. i work too hard there. we all work too too hard there. yet i love it. i adore new york’s chaos. bc i myself am chaotic. my flow attaches to its flow and off we go.
but now im back in new jersey. my trip home is basically complete because my parents and i almost hit a deer with a car on the way home from dinner. that is a must in every south jersey trip.
im going back to ny next week. maybe i will take some pictures of new york city around the holidays, which is a wonderful thing. if i do i will post them.
i am in a poem reading mood tonight. here is one: [& on the theme of the title alex dear, where are you!!? xo]
Drunk as Drunk
Translated from the Spanish by Christopher Logue
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it – our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal –
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.