June 2011
5 posts
Home Economics update 2.0
If you’d wanted a girl as compliant and meek as Wendy or comely, high-maintenance and abstract as Tinkerbell, then I haven’t the slightest idea what you’ve been doing with a girl who’s a cross between Pippi Longstocking, Emma Peel and Spock. None of them ever gave the slightest bit of attention to the fine points of housekeeping and dusting to my knowledge. Theirs were...
“The only semi-suitable replacement I’ve found for true love are true friends.”
– (via copymattt)
May 2011
1 post
Mater familias
As usual, being the rather anti-authoritarian creature I am prone to being, I propose that we celebrate things like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and Valentine’s Day and Professional Administrative Assistant Day by making it the one day we don’t honor the cheesy HallMark adland holiday-instead celebrating these people and positions every other day of the year with the...
April 2011
7 posts
geography of love: postcard #20
New Delhi, India,
Death and resurrection. There’s always that of course. Your own or someone else’s. For the year in which she does not speak, her mother dead and departed, her father vanishing like clock work on official business in some part of the world while his family burns down to the ground around him, while her brothersneaks off to boarding school with diplomatic satchels...
geography of love: postcard #19
East End NY There were two kinds of light that you loved. Me I always loved the dawn. I develop the habit of training in the moonlight hours and seeing the light come up every day. I see it begin and end and I live the day, sandwiched between it. For a while later, when I have Nate, and things are really precarious I have this image of being in a little row boat, splintered wood, blistering...
geography of love: postcard #18-93 things we loved
looking at things
humans
walking
talking
sitting side by side
sleeping in each other’s arms
having great bedding
colors of all kinds
reading
music
the ocean
your son
everywhere we had been and lived in new york city already
the jazz joint on Sheridan square
the speakeasy we slow danced in up in hell’s kitchen
our flat on 21st street
the central park reservoir
the Chelsea...
autumn →
March 2011
26 posts
geography of love: postcard #12
Montauk, NY
there are so many places kiddo. so many places. i wake up in the night looking out the window at the son of sam skyline outside. do you see the helicopters fluttering by, they zip around the downtown canyon lands like drunken bumblebees in the wreckage of what was once the towers, lights blinking red, amber, blue. hello. hello.
we spend two days in a ground fog in montauk sleeping...
geography of love: postcard #10
Greenport NY
You are sitting at the foot of my bed looking out the window at the ferry crossing to shelter island with your back to me, which is impossible.
Your father was a media mogul, with the questionable distinction of having ushered in reality TV, your mama ran a vintage clothing store for rock stars and celebrities and sometimes mere mortals like us. She’d built it from the ground...
geopgraphy of love: postcard #8
21st Street and 8th Avenue, NYC.
You have an amazing scar on your face. Its from when you were wandering across the countryside of England with a friend of yours whose family had some kind of small farm or dairy. You two were kids, hijinx and guinness galore and before you knew it seemed like a really great idea to run around in the dark. Somehow you ended up stepping on some piece of farm...
geography of love: postcard #8
Murray’s bagels 8th Avenue NYC.
They slice your ear off to fix a pinhole in your ear drum. Its been bugging you for years and finally when you have a job with insurance you go to have it checked out. For about a year you look hilarious wearing a shower cap and ear plug to keep the ear dry and protected as best you can—its a ritual we go through every morning, every vacation, every...
geography of love: postcard #7
West Village, NYC, Morton Street
It should be said too, that my parents did not approve. But I’d done my stint of the approved version already, in at eighteen out at twenty-eight and it was lukewarm. Perfectly adequate, wonderful in its own way, but when all that fell apart there was nothing left to do but go inward and train. So I did it. Long before the hipsters had their first wave...
Geography of love: postcard #6
Paris, rue de Birague.
Its all about the lies we tell ourselves. What we are willing to do, to say, to survive.
But really for me its about this. You’re looking in the window of hair salon after hair salon as we wander about spellbound by the sign that reads “champ-coif”. To you, that’s the funniest s*** on the planet. You spend several days saying it over and over as we...
geography of love: postcard#5
Paris, the Marais and the Colorado River
We are staying in the neighborhood I’d lived in and walking everywhere, everywhere day after day after day. One night we follow the Seine all the way out to the Tour d’Eiffel area. There’s an amazing light fog on the river and the boarded up booksellers, bridges, markets, bridges, cobblestones.
We get back to the hotel room and open a...
postcard#4: delancey street
Don’t forget the kid, your ghost says to me. I haven’t of course, first yours then mine. They’re always first and center, in the end. How old was he? Maybe five. We are standing on Delancey in front of a futon frame shop where you’ve come to meet me. I’ve rented a flat on 13th and A, next to my brother. Our buildings are adjacent, owned by the same holding co and I...
We are living in Chelsea on 21st street. You’ve been out with the boys drinking and its very late and you come home staggering into the living room. You’d called me from somewhere down the line there slurring into the phone, assuring me all was well and I’d waited up for awhile then gone into the back bedroom to sleep. We had a window behind the bed that opened over a garden and...
geography of love: postcard#2
I see you before I meet you later that weekend. I am standing on Lafayette looking through a script that’s been dropped off when an intense dark haired man strolls past giving me the eye. It’s you, of course, and your script I am reading but I don’t know any of that yet. I just know that someone’s looking for a producer and we’ve been connected through shared mafia at...
The geography of love-postcard#1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grtK6S4AwSg&feature=related
Every time I hear this song my heart breaks all over again. It’s amazing. It’s the most tender, most bittersweet saddest happiest feeling I have ever had. Even though I lost you. Even though you lost me. Even though we hurt each other more than id ever believed was even vaguely possible, I never stopped loving you. I never stopped...
Letter from the 70s
Dear Sri BumNuts
Thank you for your recent gift of the blocks of cheese. I have used it to feed the children of the commune, make tallow for candle (it’s quite dark early these days and I want to be sure that the children read all the sanskrit lessons you so generously provided to us), and have used the remainder for the dye vats. Oh joyous orange, light of eternal truth!
The scrabbly...
RW402011 inspiration →
February 2011
9 posts
this is the best valentine to the world ever →
you're my satellite
827 erases memories-through ocean water and blood and alchemical fires, through bedsheets and tears. She re-boots. Through husbands who are actually 1950s hausfraus, through the lovers who want her in every way whom she desires, through boyfriends who aren’t boyfriends and misters whose mistress she isn’t and does not want to be and will never be and zero worlds of every type of...
zero history
“Sufficiently perverse and titanic arseholes can become religious objects. Negative saints. People who dislike this, with sufficient purity and fervor, well they do that. Spend their lives lighting candles. I don’t recommend it.”
The Return of 827
Days looking into the fireplace. Sitting on the deck under the starlight and watching the moon tick past in the night sky. Days reading and looking at letters scramble and unscramble themselves in front of her eyes, structuring, restructuring, logic, illogic. She’s carved the number into her arm with a matt knife, carefully outlining the Xs and Is in a clean pattern watching the blood bubble...
the thing about trolls in adland
… Is that they’re insidiously everywhere. You have to keep an eye out for them so they don’t jump up and surprise the shit out of you when you least expect it. Adland is full of desperate peope. Far more desperate than you will ever be. They’re wondering what happened to their novel, their soul, their kids the wife or husband just got along with the house and bank account...
January 2011
55 posts
“There is a wolf in me…I keep the wolf because the wilderness gave it to me, and...”
– Carl Sandburg (via metaconscious)
heaven →