"Know also that wisdom is sweet to your soul; if you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off." Proverbs 24:14
A blank canvas...to dream. An open lane...to turn cartwheels.
The trickle of gritty St. Mark's on a Monday tricks me into thinking this town is quiet and refined.
A strange content energy and a cold breeze makes me feel like I could fall deep in love again.
The Pabst neon across the street even seems calmly dimmer.
I didn't make eye contact with the woman on the B train this evening.
She'd already prefaced her spiel with exclaiming her knowledge of the hate we all had for her, and I couldn't find it in me to look up when she cursed us for ignoring her wanton needs.
Oh my God, its Fall. And this southern belle's blue lips already shiver with my looming 3rd Northeast winter. Time is a funny thing...
I caught the scent of freedom's sweet breath as I sat daydreaming in a knockoff Eames office chair today.
There isn't one single, solitary tangible material holding me here on this one way East Village street.
Just like the transient crust punks, I could pack up my few city rags and head in any direction of the Compass Rose. I'd launder them first.
New York City is a beastly animal. But steadfast. I've changed. It hasn't. Not one bit.
Read about a Pilot TV Show in production...its based on the daily account of a young woman struggling to make it as an actress in New York City.
I vomit in my mouth.
I already wrote that...Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is causing traffic cluster on the East Side, demanding we recognize Iran as a true power.
If I didn't believe in the one Lord God Almighty, I would be shaking in my boots.
Instead, I stir in rage at the tax money spent protecting him.
Taking the advice of my lovely cousin who says he does his best to find compassion in everyone, cause everybody hurts.
These are the fears, these are the dreads, these are the contents of my head. Annie Lenox
Do you know how you feel?
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