And my left arm can barely move, and a splotch of it is bright red. Once, in my mind, a black snake wrapped around that arm, eating itself infinitely, growing the fire of words in its belly (it was inspired by a man on the subway with all black arms.) It will manifest itself as a bouquet of flowers dripping down my skin, but never washing off.
And my right arm is a bushel of kale held together by a rubberband, once labeled, now broken and retied (once I held three fingers up as I swore that I had never swallowed that leaf in a drink, none were impressed.)
And on both of my forearms there are a series of lines, not self-inflicted, but created by a cat scared of the wind.
I want to bring my bike home to ride around Richmond, because my bike there isn’t great, but I’m pretty sure Amtrak doesn’t allow bikes on the train and if they don’t then idk I feel like I’m not going to even go home ever… either that or I will ride my bike all the way home along the highway.
Riding my bike 45 minutes one way, 7.5 miles from Ridgewood, Queens through Brooklyn across the Williamsburg Bridge to Union Square in Manhattan with my headphones on, listening to Tame Impala, and then riding back after the sun has gone down, today, has been the most invigorating experience I’ve had all year, I’m going to make sure to do it everyday now. Fuck the subway. The rush of narrowly dodging in-between cars going high speeds with nothing really to protect you is simply incredible, coupled with the amazing scenery.. it makes you feel like a jedi soaring past flying cars on that one city planet… what was it called?.. like Coruscant or something (cheesy reference I know, but still.)
It’s nice if you’re cute and all, and I respect your right to do whatever you want with your social media… but I really can’t understand the motives behind people that post selfies of them literally doing nothing but posing EVERY. SINGLE. DAY, Yeah, maybe the same 100 people will like it everyday and that’s great if it makes you feel better about yourself but.. isn’t it a little narcissistic? Even if you look good? Also, maybe you’re wearing different clothing everyday, but besides that, your appearance is basically the same so after awhile it seems unoriginal.. You don’t have to contribute anything to the internet, but if you do don’t you think you should mix it up a little every once in a while? Lastly, I spend a fuck ton of my downtime on the internet, no doubt, and I don’t judge people who spend as much or more time on it.. but if you’re spending your whole day preparing yourself to be aesthetically appealing just for the approval of the internet don’t you think you’re kind of wasting your life? Aren’t there more important things to be done? Even if you’re just blogging nonsensical rants about random people’s actions like I normally do? I don’t know..
Move fast forward on a series of platforms- focus your energy even if tired. Notice the pretty girl in the distance. You can’t tell if her nails are painted or not- her thumb is bent forward as if gesturing and the rest of her fingers hang from a metal bar while she is resting. Move about like a monkey dodging the others until one nearly climbs on your back as you hang onto metal bars connected to yellow wheels for dear life. Keep the words in your head so you may write them all down when free and let that cop wonder why you didn’t ask for help with the door. He said you nearly killed yourself but you don’t care. Keep moving fast forward and save the boots and bagels in your bag like little treasures with significance beyond you.
All these pictures passing by- cropping out the dust of sadness on which their owners rely, portraying a pretty painting- a false catalog, of a series of memories your life has failed to install. Swallow deep from the vein of a simple suggestion, remembering the source of fleeting love’s infection- crying in the night while there is nobody there, lost and in the rain blending sky into tears. Take it from me when I say die on the bedrock of the nostalgia of that last vacation when you once felt free and happy- not meowing at a wall’s condemnation. God forsake thee and I for what it is worth, stay lazy and hold your food, not chasing the neighbor stealing turf from the front of that building which you found by spilling your misery and regret into some random girl so she told you where to find hash from some side of the world where they can’t remember that other girl you met from the fire that one September outside in the cold- that one time you had game and in her eye she imagined you old and ill by her side and never once did you think of pride over her- quit meowing at that wall, you fool, and stumble but do not fall into the pit of temptation where you’re left with nary a wish to be more than a part of some girl’s tasteless dish left out on the table to rot and to spoil while you sit in your head and you toil and you toil for that girl who wanted you not for natural inclinations, she wanted you for something to take to the grave, that can tear apart nations, dammit! So don’t feel bad that everyday now you live with regret, because in the back of your head you know you’re better off dead.
A 12 year old girl came up to my roommate’s girlfriend crying in the pouring rain earlier tonight saying she didn’t know where she was or where her mom was… I was babysitting a kid in Manhattan and got a phone call about it from my roommate and I told him to call the police (in fear of the repercussions of harboring a child that may have been reported as missing) but they seemed reluctant because they wanted to feed her and let her get some rest so I got back to my apartment at 2:30 AM and everyone was asleep. I woke up my roommate and told him we should walk her to the police station immediately and after convincing him that was the right course of action we woke up my roommate’s girlfriend to tell the girl our game plan. She seemed willing but nervous at first, but after we made it a block she stopped and said she would take the bus home. All of us were very confused about her story and it seemed as though she had been making some things up (like saying there would be no one at her house and she couldn’t go back there) so we didn’t even know if she really had a home (she also had implied she slept on the street the night before.) She wanted to take the bus (she lived about an hour away- walking distance) but I suggested we take a cab for time’s sake. Realizing there are not really any cabs in our neighborhood I suggested again that we should go to the police station so they could drive her home (I also wanted to take her there because I wasn’t convinced her home environment was the best place to be considering she had wandered an hour away from it and wasn’t making any plans to go back.) She protested saying she didn’t like the police, which we could all sympathize with and just at that moment an unmarked taxi pulled up and beeped for us to get in (almost miraculously, I know.) So after instructing the cabbie on where to go we went for a relatively short ride (although the fare was way too high, $20 bucks each way) and made it to a series of houses farther south in Brooklyn (we live on the Brooklyn/Queens border which is up north from this location.) We walked with her to the door and after half a dozen failed attempts and knocking and ringing the bell a man our age opened the door and gave us all a rather frightened/startled look. He asked the girl what was wrong and after saying “nothing” several times she ran inside and my roommate’s girlfriend told him what had happened. He was quite friendly (although he had jokingly said he was going to beat the girl later in the night, which made me regret not taking her to the police station) and explained to us that he didn’t know where the girl’s mom was (apparently she works extraordinarily late and rarely comes to the house for some reason) and that he was just watching over the kids and relaxing for the night. He called the girl’s aunt over, who we explained the story to and she seemed rather flabbergasted and upset. She said her father (the girl’s great uncle I suppose) had been looking for her all day (although she seemed to have been gone for longer than that) and that she was relieved for her to be back. After she went through the man’s phone for a few minutes trying to find her father’s number to call the man told her to go lay down and that he would handle the situation. She did. And the man proceeded to tell us he was a cop (although he had been mentioning how he was dying for a blunt) and how he would make sure a patrol car would be outside there building to monitor the girl’s activities. By this time a car was beeping at our cab (which had been waiting for us, by the way) to move out of the road and the man came out and started yelling at the car, threatened to get his shield out. Anyways, he called us angels (noting that he could tell we weren’t from Brooklyn because of our supposedly angelic behaviors, or even from New York for that matter) and got our phone numbers and said he would call us the next day. Although I felt unsure about the situation we had put the girl back into, we decided it was the best we could do for her so we got back in the cab (where we almost got pulled over because I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt but the cops just looked at us and drove away, probably because we are white.) I’m still not quite sure about how I feel about this whole situation or about how I should feel but we tried our best do what we could, respecting the wishes of the girls and trying to get her back where she belonged, so that’s all we could really do. Anyways I’m so tired, and I feel like I’ve taken care of more kids today than I have in my entire life (which is probably true) and I have to wake up at 9:45 AM tomorrow and it’s 4 AM now, and oh boy, it’s just going to be another crazy day. I can feel it.