On Mornings


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Yesterday I helped my friend move into her new apartment. She is a beautiful human who has been bitch-slapped a lot by life. Her new apartment is actually a sunny white room in someone else’s apartment. There are stickers about Africa and Haiti on some of the walls and the feeling of being in a voodoo interpretation of a minimalist rococo interior. Everyone agrees that there is a generally positive energy in the space but no one would use a oujia board there. There is a small altar to Christmas even though it is May. My friend has been in New York for many years. Moving could have been very sad in the way that leaving the site of a grand and memorable sadness often is but there were three of us with her: a tough lady a psychic boy myself and my beautiful friend. There was a hipster mariachi band at the restaurant where we drank mezcal afterwards and sometime in the middle of the night there was this elaborate dinner but I was asleep.

I have been in new york exactly one day more than a week. Every morning I wake up in a new state of disrepair and it is not the worst thing. Only one thing can ever be the worst thing and I think I will know it when it does come. Getting bitch-slapped a little by the city is not the worst thing; it makes you honest.

I wake up very early in a house full of people who sleep very late. There is this window and for a few hours each morning I feel a sense of discretion. I am writing poems real ones for the first time maybe in years or ever. They are a control in a city I cannot control. I think it is necessary to know that the city will move & alter you. It is not a human right to have a say.

Outside of the window there are other windows and some trees. The light from the sun is conversant; specific. When I was a teenager all I wanted in life was to wander “the village” smoking a cigarette in a black dress, feeling sad. I thought it would be the pinnacle of glamour.

It is maybe enough to pull oneself through a day by a tiny invisible thread. To get exhausted to wake up early to sit in a window in sunlight and watch how the planet is constantly altering itself. I don’t know if anybody gets to be happy but we get to be alive. Maybe that is just enough.

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