1nn32dem0n5

[1nn32dem0n5]

willyburg in a time of covid

everywhere there is drunkenness and gaudy nonchalance. everyone is talking of covid blase, indifferent, detached. new york fucks you hard if you care too much. you can’t breathe. you need to sit down, and there are never empty seats. “corona? chea, fuck yourself, guy! the other day I saw the six train turn a bum into puree" he finished his bagel in one bite. “gittafuck outta here with your mask”

[1nn32dem0n5]

writing

some fridays you pour yourself a long vodka coke and plant your ass in the chair and work you spend hours adjusting margins fixing font sizes checking colors importing packages editing bib files trying to cite instead of plagiarize pull insights out of the air write them down write writing written write some more. and when you've had enough you go back to the kitchen and pour another drink and step out to smoke another cigarette and it's back to the chair again. some fridays are like this.

[1nn32dem0n5]

the party which almost killed me [pt.2]

tyler took my jacket, my jacket with lots of drug pockets and i took the little jacket that was black and we got to the club to learn that having tickets meant nothing. back of the line like mediocre homo sapiens we trod; but its not all bad. i made good conversation with a well endowed local called lauren who had a gram of cocaine stuffed in her panties - just to be safe. “there was a shooting here last month. they're just being careful. its a great place though.” “im from new york” “oh youll be fine” she told me she was in finance and she had a good face for a heroin addict and a voice to go with it. she was very pretty. after stall lines, gupta wanted smoke so we went all the way outside and I never saw her again because it's just how it is. it was even more tragic later when the coke wore off. for the next hour it was electro-noises of robots in heat - badly oiled robots, hissing steam, fucking with rhythmic, undulating thrusting, patterns aided, by reverberating lights. the rhythm persited      and altered every once in a while but who could tell; I wasn't here for the music. tyler's eyes were the size of olives and and he kept saying “dude” followed by a semi-friendly gesture with the fist. it was still a good time [...]

[1nn32dem0n5]

whispers of graying whiskers

There's a cat in the alleyway across from me, elegant and lean and hungry, wild-eyed, teeth barred, and as I sip my home-made wine, watching, laughing, she laughs too. "What a funny man", she says. I stare at the cat, antagonizing it, and she stares back, antagonizing me, and we both know despite my jokes, we're in this shit together, battered, bruised, on the brink of something wild and something holy. I take another pull from the bottle, but the cat stretches, yawns, and leaps away with that poise that only cats possess, and I chuckle, with more wine swirling into me. I'm old, she keeps reminding me, because I keep forgetting.

[1nn32dem0n5]

untitled days that slip away

it's not all bad it's not all good things happen and once you fall into habits things happen so easy the days speed by and days will come that you don't know exist like when you remember to turn on the hot water to brush your teeth instead of the cold or when you're up at seven am on a Saturday not because you never slept when you say no to cocaine when you chose brown rice instead of white and write poetry and take the train for forty five minutes for pussy and have a glass of water for the sole reason of being thirsty. things happen man and it's in the middle they happen the easiest.

[1nn32dem0n5]

it’s the little things that matter because the big things are too big to grasp with out little brains

[1nn32dem0n5]

loneliness at every corner

theres so many lonely people at so many lonely ages in so many crowded places the whole world is full of lonely people: single, married, all the same, scrambling for love, for understanding for a real hug, not one of those with the ass still out, for a real smile goodbye. for someone to ask you that you got home safe.

[1nn32dem0n5]

searching...

I can't help ask questions that I can't answer and I can't help but chase the answers to the bottom large bottles, strange bedrooms, and the same old waiting room chairs. What is art? To me its struggle, fueled by the belief that next time youll be blowing out the candles on a bigger cake. And then the day comes when in spite of all the struggle things get worse: there are more candles, more questions and less cake.

[1nn32dem0n5]

she loved me with all she had but it was a love I never asked for and didn’t know how to return

[1nn32dem0n5]

the girl not taken

two girls arrived in a yellow cab and grieved I could not come in both with my one glock, oh how they walk! I ogle one, a lascivious hawk, to where her curves arched on account of undergrowth; then to the other, just as thicc and fair and having perhaps the better game because she looked trashy and wanted wear; though as for that their racy stares had given them away about the same, and both that night were just as lit from drinks and carbs their cards unswiped oh, I thought ill keep the first for another day! yet knowing how yay leads to more yay I doubted she should ever text back after I rode her bae. I could be texting with a sigh somewhere hours and hours hence: two girls arrived in a yellow cab, and I - I took the one whose phone most shattered and I got my recompense.

[1nn32dem0n5]

extra virgin

as I age more noticeably with each passing day it dawns on me how human i'm becoming. i like plants i like brunch and keeping my apartment clean i like bagels with cream cheese i like clean linen sheets i like calling my parents once in a while to make sure they are okay. I don't mind vacuuming. i’ve stopped working out because i don’t have the time I said no to narcs the other day, thinking of tomorrow. i’m getting tired of parties i’m getting tired of people i’m tired, always. as a child i thought myself as more, something not of this world, immortal and electric, something better, but i’m becoming just a man, a 'human' man, freshly fat, because i like to dip my warm bread in extra virgin olive oil. i no longer thirst for battle, just for water. sparkling.

[1nn32dem0n5]

midsummer night love

bring drunk in new york is nothing like being drunk anywhere else in the world or at least in the country hemingway called paris a movable feast but i dont think hemingway did lines with a dazzling tinderella in the lower east side at 3 am on a balmy friday night

[1nn32dem0n5]

old souls in young bodies don’t exist witout a tragic story behind it all

[1nn32dem0n5]

the bars

lead us not into the bars lead us not into the nice bars the dingy bars the rooftop bars the familiar bars the new york bars the seedy hook-up bars the basic bitch bars the hidden bars with the entrance in the shitter the open mic bars the karaoke bars the gay bars on polished cobblestoned streets the underwhelming beer bars the bars with a cover the patio bars the bars with three dollar shots the bars where they pretend life is good the bars where you're blacklisted because you smashed a glass and fought the bouncer but it's okay because they distill their vodka with cat piss the bars with the tits and good coke bathrooms the red red wine bars where your friend works and the drinks are on the friend the day drinking bars the birthday bars the bars of sweet salvation lead us not into the bars so we can have a good night's sleep a healthy liver a solid morning’s dump and not much else.

[1nn32dem0n5]

the flowers are in bloom, the days are long and summer is here but my beach body isn’t. how will i manage?

[1nn32dem0n5]

I can't love you while I'm fat

I'll love you when I'm thin again. I'm beefing for the winter, eating double-bagels every morning, double-toasted, everything and wheat, packed with more cream cheese than sense. I am the grand jew of new york, praying not for redemption but for strength to sin better, harder and longer. I want a tough liver and head than can take a (serotonin) hit. I want a plump domestic girl before the real cold comes in to keep my bed warm and my nerves frayed who forgets to take her pill and lectures me that cocaine is bad, so bad, bad, bad! "I'm working on it, baby" I'll tell her. I'm working on me, my job, my shape; the only thing one can do in America is to work on the self (and commit suicide while workin for another) and halfway lose sight and drown in what one wants, in what one thinks one needs but doesn't. the truest happiness lies in working hardly and living fruitfully. true happines is easy as long as you have health. the rest is fiction, I know this now. three decades have slipped by. that's three lives of a dog, a dozen of a rat.      there's no need for fear. there's no need for more. first come the small things like my double-toasted bagels.

[1nn32dem0n5]

mis shapen

why do some people look so uncomfortable in their own bodies? trapped at such obtuse angles, unnatural, like they’re sitting on thumbtacks in every stance, shuffling like obese toddlers - not walking, mutilated greek statues, animated, think trump and his ski jump posture, the eternal cheese wedge, the lowest-class of the one percenters. what good is money when you can’t even strut your stuff without looking like an extra wide heroin needle?