Monthly Archives: June 2012

“the one who got away.” 27 june 2012. new york city.

There’s something painfully romantic about the one who escaped your clutches, the one who gave you up, stood in your way when you tried to move on; the one you hope forgives you and the one you hope to forgive and yet never forget. It’s the one you’ll miss always. He’s greater than a storybook tale and far more complicated than any Hollywood movie ever scripted.

Today I went to get two tattoos. I added to my half-sleeve of Nabakov butterflies on my right upper arm, but on a whim I decided I needed something more. I needed a renegade… I needed a butterfly who tried to get away. It’s the one in the photo above whose colors and shape are far different from the rest that ended up on my thigh. Oh, and it fucking hurt like hell… just like him.

“Famous Blue Raincoat” written by Leonard Cohen; sung by J. Irvin Dally:

It’s four in the morning, the end of December
I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better
New York is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening.


zakim bridge. boston. 26 june 2012.

Sometimes someone knows you so well, that they were right the whole time.

it’s cold in here the music is too loud
I hate this place I hate this crowd
should leave I guess I know I should
’cause it feels just like you said it would
oh it feels just like you said it would

the music stops and in the blink of an eye
she tells me to give it a try
could stay I guess I know I could
’cause it feels jut like you said it would
oh it feels just like you said it would

yes, you were; and I loved you for it. east 1st street. june 2012.

I have a thing for bad men. Drunks, womanizers, the type who get into more trouble than they’re worth but also the type that would make life boring as hell if they weren’t around to complicate things. That’s one of the many reasons I love Charles Bukowski. He wasn’t exactly a bad man, but he wasn’t exactly a good one either.

Here’s one of my favorites by Bukowski. The man knew a thing or two about drinking and women…


I don’t know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I don’t know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
“what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!”

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horny cowboys.

well, there’s beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.