babylon’s ladies outshine daughters of jerusalem. samuel menashe, in your face.

goddamn, it’s the end of august which means summer is over and i haven’t travelled outside the city once. it’s nice now though in new york, after several weeks of thunderstorms + rainy afternoon, it’s cooled down to a breezy 70-something degrees. makes you want to walk around naked or without panties or with a machine gun.

to make a long, endlessly repetitive story short, the frenchman apologized for his antics, swore he was not gay and confessed his undying lust for me and only me and i forgave him.  i always do, don’t i.  

i’m always forgetting things but i haven’t seen the doctor in a long time and i looked at his picture the other day and found that a face i’d known anywhere was now strange to me. couldn’t really remember the way his nose rested on his face or the exact gleam of his hazel eyes or anything really. his touch though, yeah, i can remember that. never sensual, always clinical which was creepy and erotic in its own way. but. yeah, is there anything more for me to add to that except maybe i have to change my thinking about relationships and love and to stop, oh i don’t k now, feeling a deep sense of loss and astonishment everytime i fall in love with someone else? because loving someone else necessarily means that you do not love another? and if you don’t love that other, did you ever love anyone and can you love anyone, ever?

need to write, need to read. trying to sign up for a writing class this fall at the ymca on 92nd. am currently reading joseph roth’s “tarabas” at home (Zzzzzz, his radetzky stuff was so much better), thomas pynchon’s “inherent vice” (seriously funny, i crack up all by myself) at the frenchman’s place and borges, poetry and bolano at work.

in the recent past, i thought of death a lot. not the afterlife, but the moment of death–however many breaths it takes. im scared i’ll be scared, that i’ll want more. (we always do, says the frenchman). your thoughts?