the algonquin hotel. an old haunt for writers who knew they were better than the rest… we go there to pretend. new york city. june 2012.
The best part about loving New York City with everything I have, is the feeling, the anxiety and the racing pulse that comes with returning to it. It doesn’t make any sense to one who has never loved a place more than they love themselves, but it’s the truth.
But preparing to come back to New York City never ceases to be reminiscent to preparing to meet up with a love who knows you more than you’re willing to admit: there is nausea, anticipation that can’t be defined by meer words, butterflies and a weakness in the knees.
I love you, my darling, with more than I am and more than I can ever offer. But I think Augusten Boroughs said it best:
If you visit the country and find you cannot sleep because the silence you have heard so much about is actually just a shifting of all auditory awareness to the circulatory system in your head area, and in the morning when you are fatigued and raw, you realize that yes, you would trade the life of your sibling for a ten-minute fix of midtown traffic, you are a New Yorker.
I’m overly homesick for New York City as I sit here in Colorado. We head to Utah this weekend to go camping, but I don’t think it will help much. In the meantime between the new album from The Antlers and “Maps” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the homesick feeling is somewhat satiated.
tattoos. may 2012.
He was by far the most colorful person I’ve met, literally; but metaphorically and intrinsically, not so much.
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding
new york city. june 2012.
The xx’s new song, “Angel” so fucking painful, it’s amazing.
Like breathing was easy/If someone believed me/They would be as in love with you as I am…
a lump of flowers left on my desk by my 3-year-old nephew. colorado. 10 july 2012.
My sister has the entire Ryan Adam discography in her possession. It’s Ryan Adams 24-hours a day out here in Colorado.
“Crooked on the outside, inside’s caved…”