Which I guess is alright since it has Russian text and is a prison tattoo so hopefully the wearer doesn't get harassed by any Russian convict immigrants who recognize it. I wouldn't want to be responsible for that.
I called a friend for a guerrilla hangout and we lazed around Union Square park and it was nice to just stop for some time and not always be heading somewhere. I always feel like I have to keep moving or else, I don't know. I 'll sink maybe. Like a shark needs to keep swimming. Maybe it's okay to sink every now and then. That is just as well for me, since that's the direction my insides prefer lately.
I saw that Spanish dude from my printmaking class in the park. I recognized him by the tote bag he printed in class. He was wearing it with euro-macho pride. He was with another vaguely metrosexual male.
I saw that saxophone kid in my building again. Waiting for the elevator. This time he had a subway sandwich in his hand instead. He looked at me like he knew me and I blushed and walked quickly away.
The world is too small. Evidence proves this and I reclaim it. I don't really know what the world wants with me ever.
I finished Eeeee Eee Eeee on the train today. It said something that made some sense:

A world without right or wrong was a world that did not want itself, anything other than itself, or anything not those two things, but that still wanted something. A world without right or wrong invited you over, complained about you, and gave you cookies. Don't leave, it said, and gave you a vegan cookie. It avoided eye contact, but touched your knee sometimes.
It was the world without right or wrong. It didn't have any meaning. it just wanted a little meaning.
The world and I are not so different.
My next play I write will involve Aretha Franklin. Because I think Aretha Franklin is sexy. Well her music is. I've never met her. I want to write a play with some sexy in it. A play that will make Catholics disapprove.
It probably won't make too much sense. Whenever something I write makes sense, I am immediately made uneasy and I don't like it. I feel stupid, like I stuck my foot in my mouth. I don't want you to know what I mean exactly. I want you to tell me what I mean. Because I'm not sure I even know and I'd like to.
Oh and I was asked to leave and not to return to the Chelsea Whole Foods again ever.
We'll talk about it in the car.
No comments:
Post a Comment