on the subway...

growing up is difficult because it is painful to acquire nostalgia.

look how beautiful brooklyn is

  i think they may have fallen this way.

if anyone sees eugene francois, tell him he left his letter on eastern parkway.

when you're lost out there and you're all alone

--

it is better to risk disappointment than it is to compromise optimism.

email correspondance with my father

"this is too funny." - my dad, in an email to me, about the image below

(what exactly is he getting at?)

"my response"

that is funny.  we shall overcome!  also, here are two things you should watch.  the first is a trailer for this documenatry about bob marley called "marley". it is a really phenominal documentary--i think you'd love it.  also, have you watched the ted talk about the "queer jihadist" that i sent you? i'm attaching it also--i would really love you to watch it and to hear your thoughts.

i have the day off tomorrow.  tonight am going out for "gay day".  it is a thing my friend anthony started where once a month, we get together with twenty or so of our gay friends and go out together.  its a little silly, but is actually a nice little community.  i'll call tomorrow!

much love

julian

--

target on a sunday. like standing in line for soup during the great depression.

cinnamon toast cuz i got none of that greek yogurt

"bitch got pregnant.   and then that slut went and had a fucking abortion." - a living breathing male, to his four male friends, at my restaurant. 

                            

nell and william.  friends for life.

"when you wake up with crumbs in your bed"





today i woke up to overcast skies with nowhere to be until work at four o'clock.

i watched the last half hour of a movie i started the night before.  in the last half hour, one of the protagonists unsuccessfully attempts suicide, and the other dies of natural causes alone in his apartment.

i decided to order in.

the thai restaurant by my house wouldn't answer my call, so i had to call back.
and back.
and back.
and back for fifteen minutes.

i placed my order.

after i called my dad.  he was busy.

while waiting for my food, i remembered that i had to be in time square at three o'clock to return something i had borrowed.  so i threw my laundry in the wash.

my thai food arrived.  i ate it.  i picked out a new book to read. (that seemed like the right thing to do).

five minutes before i had to leave, my clothes were ready to be taken out of the dryer.  my only pair of nonripped jeans were still damp. i put them on. i hopped on my skateboard to ride to the train.

i arrived underground as two trains that i could have taken left at the same time. while waiting for another train to come and take me an hour away to time square, i realized i had forgotten my book.

the train came. i got on.

halfway to time square, the train stopped at wall street and was terminated without explanation. i got off with everyone else.  i waited for the next train with everyone else. the next train came, but there wasn't room for everyone. so i gave up on time square and decided to go above ground to find somewhere to get some frozen yogurt.

i skateboarded uptown through the financial district.  nothing about the financial district likes stakeboards.

i avoided potholes.
tourists.
tourists on buses.
police baracades.

i made it to sixth avenue.

finally, familiar territory.  and i fell of my skateboard.  more accurately, i flew off my skateboard after twenty three years of not falling off a skateboard.  i landed face down in the middle of sixth avenue.  i yelled 'fuck me'. i ripped my only pair of nonripped jeans. someone asked me if i was okay and i said that i was even though i wasn't.



i'm five blocks away from sixteen handles.  i get back on my skateboard.  i make it one block further before i have to stop at a red light. i am stopped, waiting for the light to turn green. i hear someone yell my name.  i turn around and see jack.

jack is the man i have been sleeping with who i met on grindr and swore i would never see again after i deleted his number from my phone the night before when he asked me to 'remind him of my name' as we were saying goodbye.

now he is wearing a helmet and biking across sixth avenue.

i say i am on my way to work.

i make it to sixteen handles.  i am sweating under my too-heavy fall coat.  they are out of 'euro tart'.  they are blasting an episode of 'the fairly odd parents' on a flat screen tv. it is an episode i have already seen.  i am the oldest child here by about seventeen years.  i finish my frozen yogurt and head to work.

--



i keep hearing my name being called in public.  what could that be a coping mechanism for?

cleaning my apartment

"actually, spectacular." - the six-year-old i babysit, when i asked him how his day was

we rode together from the barclays center to the brooklyn museum. i'll take community where i can get it.

"my condolences to the family"

i have recently become aware 

that one of my eyes

is noticeably squintier than the other.

all things considered, 

i feel as though 

i am dealing with this tragedy 

with grace.

--

why do they even bother to make single-stuffed oreos?

guess whose back, back again

"tell me something about yourself." - a man i had sex with, right after we had sex

¿que tiempo hace hoy?

"what i do not have"

a boyfriend.

a  

a desk.

a salary.

a six pack.

an ash tray.

an airplane.

a plan.

a plan b.

an idea about what the second most important thing i don't have is!

--

awareness is learning to keep yourself company.