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I want the sea to carry my unceasing love to your still body

January 8, 2011

What’s lonelier than taking a $50 cab ride up the West Side Highway up the Major Deegan up the FDR home, watching the sun rise alone muttering to yourself to the cabbie to the city waking up to go fuck itself and take its aching emptiness with it. New York I love you but you’re bringing me too much caffeine and not enough endorphins, late night jacking myself up on something something something wishing I could remake this whole place in someone else’s image. New York I love you but you’re not giving me a damn thing to hold on to, nothing to cling to. You’re making me (my mascara/my stockings/my lovers) run run run and I don’t know how to keep anything in place anymore.

I don’t know how to keep from growing old in this place but I want gray hair something that says I lived but I don’t want to be this tired this sad this drained this dry. All these years are bleeding together and though my taste in liquor-men-restaurants-music always seems to be getting better I have to wonder if I am too.

New York I love you but you’re bringing me down into the bowels of the Earth making me travel two hours out of eight with a pallid complexion and no room to think telling me to please move away from the doors and watch my step giving me an operator content to tell us all to keep holding doors wasting time because he’s already at work and why am I rushing why is it rush hour why am I angry all the time filled with rage I can barely control because I’m watching my step looking for things to see so I have something to say.

New York I love you but you’re fucking me up in the worst of ways because the rent is too damn high and the snow always turns gray and yellow and if I can’t make it here I start to believe I can’t make it anywhere. New York I love you but you’re learning to sleep and it doesn’t help that I’m forgetting we’re living on different time tables and you refuse to compromise and maybe I do too maybe that’s why I love you and why you’re bringing me down taking me out one day at a time giving me nothing but flooding to look forward to when water street is water logged and I’m just praying everyday and it sounds like “fuck this city and everyone in it” but the rest of the words are muffled because I know I know I shouldn’t talk like this it’s blasphemy it’s matricide but Central Park isn’t nature I’m glad I know the difference but New York I’m just so tired of hearting you when you don’t heart me back, you cold hearted bitch.

I movemovemove like a shark. Always on the move. Always on to something new, falling in love at the drop of a hat with some new ideology. Because I forget names and faces, I choose not to remember the things the people I used to love because remembering doesn’t do much but bring me a constant ache and maybe it’s better to love nothing or love all things inanimate than learn those feelings just aren’t mutual. But I forget names before they can forget mine but I don’t stop missing missing missing what I used to think feel want see. Sometimes I lie awake and wonder if you’re eating sleeping self-medicating. But I’m not your mother or your therapist. I don’t want to be so I don’t call and ask if you are eating sleeping self-medicating because I don’t give a fuck (or not as much of one as I used to) and that’s someone else’s job and good riddance and I’d like to thank the universe for helping me dodge a bullet. But still sometimes I wonder but that’s all just a wonder a thought I light upon before signing off for the night before knocking back and knocking out because I might be mean and angry but you can’t say I never try I never tried because that’s all I ever do is try try try and maybe just that is enough to earn my wings. I try to be my best. I slink back to a life-long love affair and I’m okay I’m okay with that because I know it’s out of my hands out of my control. Falling in love with a city is the healthiest it’s the least healthy way to live but I’m moving I’m thinking I’m breathing I’m drinking I’m taking it in and one day I’ll breathe it all out to make room for something else something different something verdant and that’s okay.

Where am I going? Where have I been?

“It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my  finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was…quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.”- Goodbye to All That, Joan Didion

2 Comments leave one →
  1. January 10, 2011 10:02 pm

    We can let go of almost anything except New York City and its prime components as they relate to us.

  2. Ring, ring, Hooker permalink
    January 14, 2011 2:12 am


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