bug in a rug

I roll out the map and the city rolls itself out with it. In my head and in my heart.

I walk down the street and cant help but smile at the whole city block that gets called Chinatown.

I'm touched by the humaneness of London, of old things breathing and small and in a way really loveably down to Earth simple.

And feel elated.

look right for happy

You could say that this is a love letter of a sort.

We land at G'wick and I get a little antsy. I scan the room for you - and you're not there.

In town I go straight to the closest store and get Marmite and Salt and Vinegar crisps.

The familiarity of it all reminds me of... well... me. Of how I came to be me. Through you.
And it hits me with the force that turns everything upside down and I end up being in a position I shouldn't be in.
Because it's highly inappropriate.

Six years and I didn't know where I ended and you began.
Two years and I still miss the touch.

I. love. you.

London beats NYC any time - except for the times it doesn't /smiles/.

spring vs fall

I wanted to make sure I say something really positive. Because life has been good.
There has been booze and cute baby feet.
Long lost roommates and beautiful women. To look at.

I only wish it were spring instead of the fall.

FDR drive

I never thought it would come to this... I go to bed at night and I wake in the morning and realise....
I miss New York.


To the world New York City equals Manhattan, to me Manhattan equals a borough of revolving doors and public transport. And a home on the East side that comes with the Chrysler building and police cars blinking their police lights on the FDR drive. Always.
The noise has got me hooked on earplugs to a degree that I can't do without. To this day. Every night.

Through the front door and down the steps at the park to the cross-town bus, and to scaffolding that would stretch whole city blocks and more if you knew which way to turn and where to cross to get to walk to work without an umbrella. I still think that New York should be the Windy City.

Time Square is my friend that has, in its plastic authenticity, saved me from myself... at least twice. And I don't care if they say that it's the worst the city's got to offer, because it's not and because it's the reality of that town in the realness of time that is real to that place and that place only.
Ummm. If you know what I mean.

There's a certain beauty in loneliness and pain. And there's something dismissive about happiness. You can either be this or you can be that in this city.
New York does black, and it does white.
But it doesn't do in the middle...

life. insurance.

I think something's not entirely right with the situation where I can claim that my car has two insurance policies and I've got none...

random pieces of tape

There's a baby on board screaming it's head off and all I can think to myself is -SHUT it the f*** up!!!
A man and a woman next to me mutually agree that the screaming fills their heart with love and also, with slight worry.

Now what kind of a horrible mother am I to my unborn children if my maternal instincs do not kick in with the first two minutes of the screaming. Not five, not ten, not even fifteen...?

I'm only young I tell myself, and sip on my tomato juice. You see I always drink tomato juice when flying. Always.

asylum aspects

In a windowless conference room a woman is going on and on about asylum aspects of Somalia and all I can think about is fucking you with a strap on.
Good Lord - my ability to just zoom out of any meaningful conversation at any given conference or a meeting is to me, beyond comprehension!

havre de grace

Just something I realised studying the map of the US...
I'm sorry but despite it's fancy name, Havre de Grace must be the most boring place I've ever visited. Decoy museum or not.

There's only that much duck feeding one can do...

four things mentioned

- I think by now i can officially say that moving accross the Atlantic (twice), combined with the other life altering decisions taken throughout the year, has not taken me any closer to spiritual and/or professional (or anyother sort of) fulfilment.

- I saw an eagle the other night. Or at least I like to think it was an eagle that I saw. It was huge and made the whole tree sway under its' weight. I stared. It stared.

- Why is it that every time I take the time to scrub and polish my car (for hours on end) it starts raining the next day???

- I love sticking my hand out the car window grabing the wind. Feeling it. And I don't even care if - in your eyes it should make me look like an idiot...:)

broken

A broken elbow has out-ruled normal existance and all plans for a rollerblading competition over the weekend.

theory?

I have a theory whereas I claim that one hasn't really made acquaintances with a city without seeing it at sunrise and the air of intimacy of an occasional dog walker or a cleaning truck. Of an oncoming hangover and a speeding taxi-car...

time

The concept of time and my comprehension of it is just killing me. There's so much remorse. Do you know that... if I'm feeling so sorry and guilty for my 29 years gone, what is it going to be when I turn 60 - should it so happen?

Anyway, did you ever wonder about those (suggested) speed signs at highway exit ramps? They never lie. I thought they would, but they don't. They provide you with the exact most comfortable speed that you would want to be travelling at that particular moment in time and - keep you safe.

Amazing.

Or what...?

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time
Damien Rice

i won't be your yoko ono

I never gave it another thought I realised... That day that - I must have been green in the face with hangover - I met an aging and sick, but suprisingly vital and extremely savvy, private school bred mama's boy - an artist, a cameraman, a perv - an ex-something-something-something or other...

Mark Kalev Kostabi for a friend, a TV show on Manhattan Neighbourhood Network, an art show opening in Soho. Soon. .
A dick, a rebel, just an old fart. I got to like him a lot.

He said he heard the shots from 72st West to 89st East where he was standing. It had echoed across Central Park. He said they all stopped for a moment - looked up to carry on. Not realising they had just heard John Lennon being shot to death. A history in the making.

He's seen Yoko often. On the street, she lives two blocks down. He says she looks tiny.

chicken shit

Identity crisis. And guilt. Guilt. GUILT.
For every single little thing I do or do not do.

S t o p!!

For leaving.
Remorse pouring out of every single pore of my body.
My MFA, my dear life,
I have a career that I so carefully planned and worked for.
Whatever happened to I always know.
My choices. Probably never right.
Or almost never right. Or mostly right. Or whatever...

I don't know. Sometimes I do things and expect no consequences.
There's always something, they always come.
Consequences.
I've been offered fruits I don't really desire.

The truth is.
That.
I'm.
A chicken.
Shit.

sally

'Can I have sex with you', she said seductively sucking my fingers.
'Girl. You're crazy!', I said laughing it off.

We'd been introduced five minutes ago...

miaow mix

I smile and think of you every time I put on my black coat, that is still a bit stiff from laying in the sweet sticky splash of coctail spilt on the bar floor beneath the podium. The stripper's navel and bared skin that I became faced with climbing out from beneath the stripping stand. I do not remember her face. I remember I told her she was beautiful. I felt she needed the compliment. I gave her three bucks and staggered on - tunnel vision.

Too drunk for work for the first time in my life.
I think of you when I think of hangovers.

I fondly reminisce the taxi rides and money spent crusing around town in damp cottony summer breeze and distinct stench of Manhattan, as we rolled the windows down and explored all the gay bars listed in your latest Time Out magazine.