![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Saturday night:
My lungs constantly struggled with the combination of warehouse basement mold, Philadelphian July-style humidity, and smoking far too much lately. Rot seemed to settle itself in my chest like a long-lost lover's post-coital embrace. You benign cyst. You feculent murmur in my ear. You heartworm.
I walked into the place, walked out of the place, and walked back in. Threw myself into an uncomfortable chair and leaned back to stare at the crooked wooden beams of the ceilings. They reminded me of my bottom teeth. straight, straight, straight, holy fuck!, straight, straight, straight. I laughed a lot. I hugged someone I haven't seen in a full hand of fingers. I openly committed illegal acts on the sidewalk, joyfully and with abandon.
There is a melancholy, a certain dank desolation, that enters my heart whenever I return to the city. I see the ghost of a girl I'm not sure I ever really was. I hear her voice coming from my mouth, I move her pale arms that twitch inside their sleeves during awkward conversations, I feel her feet crackling against the piss-painted concrete. Who was she then? Who am I now? It feels so far away sometimes, I'm not always sure it ever really happened.
Lightening criss-crossed crooked overhead at an alarming proximity and I saw the sky flash sugar bowl cobalt blue as a transformer went down somewhere in the distance. I stood in the rain, cupping my cigarette against the damp. I turned my face up to feel it on my skin. Filthy city rain, but rain nonetheless.
Later, I watched a dear friend become almost consumed by inner fire and personal demons.
Sunday afternoon:
My best friend took me to see the sharks, the rays, the frill-edged jellyfish and their trailing lace tentacles. It was her birthday and I had no money in my pockets.
I touched the sandpaper back of a spotted ray, the dense gelatinous quality of a jelly. I plunged my arm almost entirely in and stroked into soft submission a tiny shark no larger than a child's femur.
Cupping my hands to fashion a mask, I pressed flat against the glass of an enormous slick wall and felt the cool depths through my palms and the pads of fingers. I dreamed of swimming, of drifting, of dark bodies sliding around me. Flashing teeth and the false eyes of ecstasy.
My lungs constantly struggled with the combination of warehouse basement mold, Philadelphian July-style humidity, and smoking far too much lately. Rot seemed to settle itself in my chest like a long-lost lover's post-coital embrace. You benign cyst. You feculent murmur in my ear. You heartworm.
I walked into the place, walked out of the place, and walked back in. Threw myself into an uncomfortable chair and leaned back to stare at the crooked wooden beams of the ceilings. They reminded me of my bottom teeth. straight, straight, straight, holy fuck!, straight, straight, straight. I laughed a lot. I hugged someone I haven't seen in a full hand of fingers. I openly committed illegal acts on the sidewalk, joyfully and with abandon.
There is a melancholy, a certain dank desolation, that enters my heart whenever I return to the city. I see the ghost of a girl I'm not sure I ever really was. I hear her voice coming from my mouth, I move her pale arms that twitch inside their sleeves during awkward conversations, I feel her feet crackling against the piss-painted concrete. Who was she then? Who am I now? It feels so far away sometimes, I'm not always sure it ever really happened.
Lightening criss-crossed crooked overhead at an alarming proximity and I saw the sky flash sugar bowl cobalt blue as a transformer went down somewhere in the distance. I stood in the rain, cupping my cigarette against the damp. I turned my face up to feel it on my skin. Filthy city rain, but rain nonetheless.
Later, I watched a dear friend become almost consumed by inner fire and personal demons.
Sunday afternoon:
My best friend took me to see the sharks, the rays, the frill-edged jellyfish and their trailing lace tentacles. It was her birthday and I had no money in my pockets.
I touched the sandpaper back of a spotted ray, the dense gelatinous quality of a jelly. I plunged my arm almost entirely in and stroked into soft submission a tiny shark no larger than a child's femur.
Cupping my hands to fashion a mask, I pressed flat against the glass of an enormous slick wall and felt the cool depths through my palms and the pads of fingers. I dreamed of swimming, of drifting, of dark bodies sliding around me. Flashing teeth and the false eyes of ecstasy.