March 2008
31 posts
On $ store alley southwest of Astoria’s North African kitchen, the Greek salesgirl, surprised at my buy, bags up the squid ink into my tote.
I waited for my kabobs, a foreigner among migrants who speak Arabic with no mention of Allah. ‘Enjoy my friend,’ in English this time to me.
HBO’s Real Sex endorses guttural moaning during coitus, but neglects the unwanted side effect of sounding like Gorillas in the Mist.
He was flattered, insulted I won’t take a hint, then embarrassed, realizing I was staring because the pole he leaned on screamed wet paint.
‘Mr can I ride with you?’ He picked me, thin and 5’4, neglecting the size of his own frame. We watched trains go by, stuck in the turnstile.
The librarian handed me the copy of Damballah. ‘This book’s seen better days.’ Bitter a/b my rejection to Brown, I said ‘So has the author.’
At Red Bamboo I mistook a stranger as an old friend. Blushing, I crawl back to my table, food in hand & remarked casually about the weather.
The old man waved from across the street, gesturing wildly at his newly placed Dry Cleaner sign, covering up the silhouette of Real Estate.
He dances like a straight boy but that’s ok. ‘I promised my partner I won’t hook up with anyone tonight.’ That’s ok too. I kiss him g’night.
He hugged me, & I said he smelled like fries. ‘Really?’ I leaned in, catching a whiff of that mixture of cologne & whiskey breath. ‘Really.’
I head to Starbucks for the bathroom. The guys before me looked ready to burst. They went in together; their moans mistaken by passers-by.
Some time ago he gave up all hope of succeeding at work & started calling people by their ethnicities, like: ‘Hey Chink, buy a cell phone.’
‘Cold, hungry, and mental vet’ reads the sign. He is packing up for the day. I drop a dime. But he just stands there. Watching. Then leaves.
En route to the poetry center, a limo was driving recklessly. A lady slammed it, pointed at me & yelled, ‘You almost hit the poor boychik!’
Across the tracks the little girl smiled & waved. I felt so good I offered a lady my seat. But she refused, saying, ‘Get your hands off me!’
Suddenly, we went upstairs for the ice cream. Then we hungrily discovered each dildo.
I almost jetted once I got to BarcampNYC3, but then I figured out the kids in vampire-cyborg cosplay were there for a different convention.
He’s taken, but she’s relentless; she threatens to tickle the sex out of him. I lean in and whisper, ‘Tell her about your one testicle hon.’
At the Tom Wolfe/Fernando Ortero event I was distracted by the girl scribbling poetry beside me: ‘Pre-marital bliss/ Found on Craigslist.’
Riding the N this morning I kept daydreaming of Super Smash Brothers Brawl. It didn’t help me when the punk threw the bottle & hit my face.
‘Free hug?’ She giggles and I want to scream, ‘Free bedbugs?’ ‘No thanks,’ I say instead, but the guy behind me can’t wait for his turn.
I am going to invent some sort of device to replace me at work. It will be a single piece of paper that says, ‘I’m sorry student/professor.’
I woke up to the sound of my own loudly graphic fart, and found my belongings double wrapped in plastic bags. I blame the alcohol for both.
She tells me, ‘In the next month you’ll see how we react. We’ll shut ourselves out, pretend nothing’s wrong, but the end accept it & deal.’
Chef Ali sat next to us & listed all the options while we salivated. ‘How do remember all that?’ He shrugged. ‘I make them up as I speak.’
Some guy said I dropped something & begged for $. ‘You fell for it,’ laughed the yuppie. ‘Hey mister,’ I said. ‘Your dog dropped something.’
‘See this,’ she waved toward her face, Abercrombie bag in hand. ‘He don’t deserve this.’ They went back to Cantonese when they saw my smile.
He sang love songs while plucking his bass, Beatles mostly. The tourists were too preoccupied taking pictures of the tranny girl with flash.
Walking back to the apt, I scooped up a deserted metal shelf off the street. My shellshocked roomies still not over bedbug PTSD now hate me.
The smoke detector weaved itself into my dream. ‘What happened?’ I yelled. ‘It’s OK. I just turned the oven on,’ replied my naked roommate.
The whiskey must have gotten to me. Everyone stared as I lit up the cigarette,flicked, and failed to put it out on the laminate countertop.