In the unforeseen recent dive into homelessness, couch surfing, and semi-unemployment I've decided that... well, I just don't have the means to paint. No seriously, I'm living under my friends stairs in a crawl space in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Hard to set up a drafting table in a space you can't stand up in. Never fear! In the face of the odds I've rediscovered my love for writing (a creative outlet even the smallest of spaces can accommodate. Take that odds against me! HAHAHAHA!). So, for the foreseeable future that is what you will be seeing from me. I hope you enjoy. I hope you critique. I hope you hate it even. I'll be posting what art I do, but for the meantime it looks like it's going to be mostly bar napkins. Frankly I don't really care. This is what I can do for now and you'll have to all deal. Hope to hear from you all regardless. I'd love to see your recent workings and here goes:
Defiler of food:
Comfort is a cigarette and a bump from a friend. I look for love, but who can love the mess that I've become. I don't blame anybody. I made my cake/bed and I will sleep and eat in it. I just want people to know that this is what happens. You become a desert maker and defiler of food.
I've been with a million girls. I know; it's nothing to brag about but,
Every once in a long while you have that one. Well, most people do.
For me: I've had that one. The one where when you make love everything is perfect. Dream-like. You wake up and thank god that it's real because she's laying next to you.
My girl who fulfilled everything for me. No matter my preference, fantasy, fetish, ect... she transcended genres. Made my dreams come true with every movement of her body. Even in argument I knew she was the one for me. Maybe even more-so then. The fire behind her eyes when she yelled was like a nuclear bomb dropped on my heart screaming to me how much she loved me as much as the first screamed that this bomb will fuck you up Japan.
Every look from her was like looking into infinite truth about myself. I know I lie to myself to protect myself, but there was no denying then. It was real or no deal. I loved it. I loved her.
The knock out punch of her eyes, a rip off from a beautiful writer Chris Kennedy, but none the less true. Despite everything, despite her hatred, despite her everything, she will forever be the one who got away.