there are dead christmas trees everywhere!

"i'm going to kill you.  i'm going to kill you.  i'm going to kill you." - a man right outside my apartment, to me, during what was my first human interaction of the day

and are also gay

"how uncomfortable it can feel, to be somewhere unfamiliar"

the winter has chapped my lips,

especially the bottom

which is torn in the middle

and my favorite of the two;

it hurts to smile and eat citrus.

--

' poets are a strange crowd.  when everyone else is happy, the poets can say things that are discouraging.  when everyone else is sorrowful, the poets can laugh and dance.  but when the nation is in danger they must drown themselves and let their deaths be a warning in the name of truth. ' 

--

today, as i was walking to my friend's apartment, i was imagining what memories would flash before my eyes if i were to die in that moment.  i'm not sure that this is a very constructive excercise.

are you my mother?

"misery aquaints a man with strange bedfellows." - william shakespeare, to me, during a conversatin we had at prett about my sex life

boogie board, don't boogie board

"you're no angel either, baby"

i remember spending an unremarkable afternoon with you last january.  maybe we ate or got coffee or went shopping for lube together, but i know we split up at bleeker and bowery.  i was going downtown to work at my restaurant and you were headed to the train to go home.  we said goodbye--we probably kissed because we kissed then--and parted ways.  i went south, you west.

i made it about five blocks to houston street before a wall of anxiety knocked me over and i knew that i needed to see you.  like the feeling i got when i was five-years-old and lost my mom on my first and only trip to walmart.  without realizing or consenting, i had become violently alone in a busy aisle full of foreign objects.

i turned around and ran north up bowery.  i got to bleeker where we had separated and took off west in the direction you were walking when you left me.  i remember that day you were wearing a bright red hat or coat or bag becuase i remember frantically scannig the overcast street for something bright red to identify you by.  

up 

over 

down 

over 

back 

across 

back

down 

over 

up 

down

across.

my eyes only fell upon browns and greys and blacks as i began to slow my pace.  you must have turned on a cross street, or maybe you already made it onto the train.

my heart felt like a balloon full of wet sand.  you had disappeared.  and by this point i was running late for work.  i turned around and started back east on bleeker.  i turned south onto bowery toward my restaurant. the feeling aloneness was still sharp, but i knew it would be dulled when we met up at your apartment that evening.

we did, and it was.  

--

today, a woman at work ordered a vegan hotdog to take home to her puppy.  so i've decided to change careers and am going to pursue becoming a puppy.  

standing under vs understanding

"i just wish that cows could speak." - a soulmate i passed on the street

which is more sad, a tree stump or a melting pile of snow?

zero points for specificity

behind that game of 'scrabble' is a little boy playing 'scrabble' on an ipad

"while locked outside an apartment"

it is a particular process that the mind undergoes when it hasn't seen an important face for a while:

first, the face is all the mind can see;

then the face becomes fuzzy around the edges;

then the face becomes the idea of a face;

then the idea of an idea;

then a dream;

then the dust of a dream;

then dust.

--

it is january in new york city and i just spent one dollar and nintey nine cents on a pineapple. there is no way that should be possible.

the past is a story we tell ourselves

"are you in a tostitos phase or a stacy's phase?" - my old roommate, in lieu of asking me how i am doing

it is atrocious how little reverence we have for the elderly in our culture

"a tangential noninteraction"

today i was standing on the subway platform, waiting for the train.  i was wearing black skinny jeans cuffed at the bottom with black doc martins and a black winter coat.  on my back was a heather green military-style canvas backpack.  

out of the corner of my eye, i saw another twenty-something caucasian male, wearing black skinny jeans cuffed at the bottom with black doc martins and a black winter coat.  on his back was a heather green military-style canvas backpack.

he saw me see him out of the corner of my eye.  

i saw him see me out of the corner of his eye.

when the train arrived, he moved to get on the same car as me.  we sat across from each other, on a diagonal.  we rode together the four train from union square to franklin avenue, seeing each other see each other out of the corner of our eyes.  

at franklin avenue, i got off.  he continued on with the train.

i'll probably never see that boy again.  it's no loss for me, because we are strangers; and to an outside eye, indistinguishable from each other.  

--

it was so cold today that my avocado un-riped itself on my walk home from the grocery store!

what's happening in the atmosphere

"it's so cold today!" - every person in new york city

somewhere, a group of people are playing a very unsatisfying game of "go fish"

"behind every counter"

there is a small grocery store next to the subway stop by my house that i visit almost everyday because i live hummus container to hummus container.  it is a bit over priced.  the store has everything you want and nothing you need (an aisle dedicated to different varieties of organic nut butters; no heinz ketchup). 

my favorite employee is named alison.

alison is fifteen.  i see alison around three days a week—when my semi-daily trips to the grocery store coincide with her semi-daily shifts at the grocery store.  here is what i know about alison:

she is fifteen.

she works at a grocery store. 

she has bleach blonde hair that her mother doesn’t like.

she lives far away (i can’t remember where, but i know when i asked her once whether she lived in the neighborhood, she began her response with “i live pretty far away.”)

she has braces.

everything else i think about alison is an assumption.  i assume that she is well liked by her coworkers because they always seem to be chatting and laughing together.  she even chats and laughs with the person who seems to be the manager of the grocery store, which (as i know from experiences with managers) is not an easy thing to do.  i assume that she is in school because she is fifteen and seems to have a good head on her shoulders—plus she is articulate and i never see her working when i shop in the mornings.  i assume that she is at least partially supported by either another individual or another job, because i don’t think anyone could live fully off the number of hours alison works and the amount of money most people are paid to ring up other peoples groceries at grocery stores. also, she has braces (which aren’t cheap).

after a few months of my shopping at the grocery store and making small talk with alison, we exchanged names.  in some ways, it is astonishing how many interactions we had with each other without needing to have exchanged names.  i am happy that i know alison’s name—more happy than i am about knowing the names of most people that I know the names of—because it is a sign that we both wanted to know each other’s name.  in some ways, it is astonishing how many people’s names we all know just because we feel that we should know their names or need to know their names, not because we want to.

if alison were to make a list of things she knew about me, it would probably look like this:

i am older than fifteen.

i care about how long she has been working that day or when she gets off (as this is always something i ask about).

i only eat raw vegetables, hummus, and chocolate chip cookie ingredients.

i live close by.

i am named Julian.

i do not have braces.

everything else alison thinks about me would be an assumption.  she probably assumes that i have a job or am supported financially by someone, because how else could i have all this money to spend on groceries?  she probably assumes that i am a generally friendly person, and that i have these sorts of amicable relationships with many people who i interact with in service-industry settings.  she probably assumes that i like to cook (or at least like to grocery shop), and that i throw lavish parties in my three-story brownstone apartment where i serve all of the raw vegetables, hummus, and chocolate chip cookie ingredients that i buy to my large group of close friends, celebrities, and diplomats. 

something that alison does now know about me (because i have not told her), is that i too worked as a grocery store check-out person when i was fifteen-years-old.  i haven’t mentioned this to her because it never really comes up in our minute-or-so long interaction (as we usually spend most of our time discussing how long she has been working that day or when she gets off).  however, this secret knowledge that i have of our similarity makes me hopeful for alison.  when i was fifteen-years-old, i was working as a grocery store check-out person in a sleepy town in suburban florida: now i am a fancy waiter in new york city.  alison is already a grocery store check-out person in new york city.  by this logic, when she is twenty-three-years-old like i am, she will probably be a fancy waiter on mars.  even the sky is not the limit for alison. 

--

i got yelled at three times at work today.  how many times did YOU get yelled at at work today?

the bliss of solitude

"sorry for putting my foot in your face i want more french fries." - a little girl at my restaurant, to her sister, when asked to apologize by their mother.  

NO ONE try to use my piece of mail from 'the economist'!

"daffodils" by william wordsworth



i wandered lonely as a cloud
that floats on high o'er vales and hills,
when all at once i saw a crowd
a host, of golden daffodils;
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

continuious as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the milky way
they stretched in never-endling line
along the margin of the bay:
ten thousand saw i at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

the waves beside them danced: but they
out-did the waves the sparkling waves in glee:
a poet could not be but gay,
in such a jocund company:
i gazed--and gazed--but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

for oft, when on my couch i lie
in vacant or in pensive mood,
they flash upon that inward eye
which is the bliss of solitude;
and then my heart with pleasure fills,
and dances with the daffodils.

--



it is an unpleasant feeling, slipping into old habits.

reassociation

"do you believe in life after love?" - pope francis

no one wants to sit next to spilled fried chicken

"people are the worst"

if you want someone to give you a reason that you shouldn't go to the gym; ask me.

if you want to experience one person being a lot less fun than everyone else in a room; ask me to play "apples to apples".

the person who thinks that everything is funny.
the person who wants to win.
and one person who is being a lot less fun than everyone else.

i took the subway in from manhattan to crown heights at nine thirty on a sunday night. i walked from ninth street and avenue c to union square. i caught the five express heading downtown.  i didn't realize until i was on the train that it stopped running at bowling green. i noticed this as we got to "the second to last stop on the train" and had that moment of panic where you aren't sure if this train is going to get you where you want to go. i learned that you can get on the four train at bowling green. so i transferred.

i got a seat because i know that you need to make sure you get a seat because it is a long way to stand.

borough hall, nevins street, atlantic avenue/barclays center, bergen street, grand army plaza, eastern parkway, franklin avenue. there are fewer white people as the stops get further out. i have never gotten off at nostrand avenue.

on the train, i hear that there is a man playing a guitar and singing. it sounds like it is maybe an evangelical song except that it is sung like reggae music.

then i hear that the song is about nelson mandela and i think "oh, i like this guy".

then i hear him say "nelson mandela is still alive" and i think "oh, he's crazy".

then he finishes the verse with "in out hearts" and i conclude that i do really like him.

he is not close by, but after a minute of deliberation, i decide to give him a tip. at first i don't want to in case he is crazy. then i think that he is doing great work, and that all of the old and newly historical figures he is summoning for me (with his songs via my own mind's association) would want me to demonstrate my appreciation.  then i wonder if he might be offended if i offer to give him money. who am i to assume that is why he is here? then i think that i work for tips too, and i pull out the last two dollars from my pocket (which was tip money anyway, so better it not stay in the same hands too long). we stop at atlantic avenue/barclays center and i am afraid that he is going to leave the car without making it to my end.  so i hold out my two dollars and he kind of meets me half way to grab it but neither one of us really moves from where we are stanidng.

here you go. 

thank you. 

it was an unremarkable moment.

the doors to the train close and he stays in my car as we head to bergen street. immediately as we begin to move, two white men my age with backpacking gear call out to the man with the guitar.  one of the men extends a hand with a few dollars and in the same breath utters "you're great, can i take a picture of you."

the man with the guitar (whose name i don't know) stops playing to pose for the picture. i turn away because the image as a whole confuses me.  a few seconds go by with no more music, and i realize that it is because the boy with the camera is taking multiple pictures of the man with the guitar. many pictures. then the man with the guitar starts to play and sing while his photographs are being taken. but instead of finishing the interrupted chorus to "redemption song" by bob marley, he begins to play "who let the dogs out".

the man with the guitar moves on down the train car after the man with the camera finishes.  he begins where he left off with his original tune.

i get off at frankin avenue, along with the two white men my age with backpacking gear.

it's not too cold in crown heights four days after the blizzard, and the snow has finally been cleaned off the streets.

i stop by the grocery store on the way home to pick up some coconut flour to bake triple chocolate chips because my roommate is gluten free.

--

and what feels better than walking around with your jacket unzipped? nothing! nothing! nothing! nothing!