[ saturday, june 8 ]

it's not that I'm unhappy, exactly, but I miss knowing what it's like to feel safe. sometimes remembering isn't really enough.
[  23:34  •  +  ]

this week? I've been moving. and cleaning. and working.
just in case you were wondering.
[  12:22  •  +  ]

[ sunday, june 2 ]

let's lay off the saccharine crap for a while. you know what I did today? I sat on the dirty floor at dollar-a-pound, up to my waist in dirty clothes, clothes too old and decrepit for goodwill. the pile stretched from wall to wall to wall, creating a small hilly landscape out of dusty polyester and sweat-stained cotton. there was nothing to do except climb over it, trying not to leave prints with the sneaker soles that had taken me up and down subway station stairways and across downtown boston and through the mit campus. I sat with my back against a water pipe, next to a pair of size 2t green footie pajamas and a ripped polyester blazer with only one shoulderpad.

in most stores you don't wonder about where the clothes have been and who abandoned them, because you don't have to. but I like running my fingers along splitting seams and ragged hems and trying to guess at their history, and to think about who else might have sat on the same dirty floor, looking at the same dirty clothes. always there are old women with scraggly grey hair and arms draped with plastic shopping bags, the kind of women who hollywood tells us live alone in dingy dark apartments with seventeen cats each. sometimes they pick up tiny baby clothes and just look at them. it makes me feel self-conscious somehow to see that, so I look for something else to look at. today I watched the workers behind the counter for a while. they were both wearing black ramones t-shirts and more piercings than I could count. I thought, I bet they've had sex right here on top of all these clothes. I had a handful of old red sox shirts in my fist. and, I thought, I guess I'd wear still these clothes anyway.
[  01:06  •  +  ]