i live on the 7th floor of a building infamous for gay male sex in its bathrooms, in Boston, a block away from the MFA.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" - J. Kerouac
once upon a time a woman from haiti and a man from morrocco got married and had a squirming squealing girl-larvae that went on to read too many books in elementary school, develop cynical opinions, and eventually fall in love with all the pretty things and most of the ugly ones too. and one day she moved to the big city and at some point cut all her hair off.
i want to be a creepy old lady when i grow up. feather boa, ivory cigarette holder, sprawling garden, 12 cats, and all. and at my jazz funeral, everyone will dance.