gallas13

one must have a mind of winter
to regard the frost and the boughs
of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

and have been cold a long time
to behold the junipers shagged with ice,
the spruces rough in the distant glitter

of the january sun; and not to think
of any misery in the sound of the wind,
in the sound of a few leaves,

which is the sound of the land
full of the same wind
that is blowing in the same bare place

for the listener, who listens in the snow,
and, nothing himself, beholds
nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

- wallace stevens

josie and i agree that our bodies are not producing enough vitamin d. we are sitting in tompkins square park with the townies and their chess and their shopping carts and their kool and the gang. both of us would like to disco, but we are too languid; the day is all molasses. josie is nestled against the faux fur lining of the hood of her jacket. she is beautiful in the sun and she knows that i know but she doesn't know what to do with herself. she says "do it again" every time i say "ya'll" and i roll my eyes every time she says "aboot." it is terribly unfortunate that she is canadian. we spend the rest of the day at the baths sweating and giggling and groaning.

i am an arbiter, even for myself. people resent me. people do not hesitate to ask me for things. one day i will shoot a film of little shorts, and invite these individuals. each short will be called "you did this". they will watch and squirm. i will eat buttered popcorn. lots of it.

thelovelymiss says "happy medium" at least five times a day. i think she has found it - i really do - and so says it over and over again like a hare krishna in hopes that it will spread to us (if i have faith but not love i become as a sounding brass). her behind is so awesome that when we walk down orchard the esses go "DAMN, is that real?"

i wonder if i will miss the cold weather - the bundled children and the snow that groans under my boots on quiet sunday mornings. i can't remember if i missed it last year. summer comes so suddenly here. it's puberty for a boy - one morning you rise to find it 80 degrees outside and that none of your shoes fit.

thelovelymiss and i are contemplating hellay. we would drive and drive and drive in hellay. with the windows down. with her hand on my crotch and buzzo on repeat.

new york is beautiful, but there are no hookers. no wild animals roaming the streets to keep the amateurs inside. even the boricuas talk more softly, and walking up delancy has lost syncopation. it smells of clorox at wet wipes. she has become a botoxed, faye dunaway shadow of herself.

i am watching people i love slide into comfortable adulthood. it is almost crippling.

this is silly. you have read this half paying attention, half wondering if you should wank to your "favorite suicide girls" (quotation marks inserted with a chuckle). are they still your favorites? do they keep track? the ego is a strange thing. naked bodies are. . .well. . .i was going to say dime a dozen, but. . .

*yawn*

i am ready for her to come back with the woman i love: