"With your help, I can advance against a troop, with my God I can scale a wall." Psalm 18:29
An excerpt to get the gist.
"We used to say that our love was like hemp rope, three times strong as the rope that you would buy domestically. I still write to my senators saying they should legalize cannabis. And I should know, I'm a horticulturist."
Silly me, I rejected a nine dollar European bologna and parsley panini at a quaint Bistro on Madison scoffing at the price and enduring the knowingly smug look from the hostess. Ultimately spent 11 dollars on an egg pasta and grape leaves hodgepodge of greasy deli delights thinking it was the cheaper route..This move is evidence I'm still a novice epicurean in New York City. Knowing the best places to eat affordable is a testimony to knowing the city, regardless if you're solid with the trains...
Note. If I feel the slightest urge, I will not walk past the next Gyro cart I smell...
What am I doing?
Trying to find inspiration peacefully in my closet, but intoxicated by the conversation in my living room with a deep voiced Persian Brown graduate discuss the benefits of not wearing a bra with silicon breasts and how the roundness of them balances out her broad shoulders. Giggle. Giggle. That and how she hopes her desperate and throaty growling in her sleep doesn't frighten me in mine. After all my vibe as a roommate is something she can have around her.
Lord give me strength...
Where the hell am I?
Staring in the mirror at my deeply furled squint line and my wrinkles I've received by my continuous raised eyebrow questioning (a trait of an iconoclast)...I 'm wondering if NYC is really a place to be when you're broke. I don't know. Maybe it is one of the places you can actually semi survive without panhandling. I already ate discarded leftovers and snagged an eyeliner from the trashcan...Hell, I'm practically prostituting myself dealing with the shared space by not speaking up.
I don't want to sleep in the park.
She just asked him if her ass is tight enough..He responded by gripping it aggressively. I heard the slap from in here...
What am I accomplishing?
Yes, I am physically residing and still breathing in the most fantastic city in the world. I picked up and moved. I've explored this city alone for four months now and been blessed with opportunities only given by my Creator. I know He's carrying me. But am I truly living? Does fifteen hours of my time on a movie set for the top of my head to have a glimpse of fame pack enough of a punch to sustain me?
Uh-oh sounds like their moving furniture around out there...
What do I want?
Other than to dance...I am acutely aware I want to write. Be it in Central Park on a lush meadow of fescue. Or on a bamboo porch with bougainvillea partially blocking the view of the Caribbean blue. I desire my faith in the Lord and my fascination in superbly freaky people to manifest itself into my words. deeds. paychecks.
But damn it's a hard living. Gotta git'er done.
"There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it's like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
Ernest Hemingway
Should life's ventures come easy?
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