Saturday, November 22, 2008

I just want sleep and my lips are chapped

Waiting for the subway and I'm enraged, what was I thinking running out of food rushing into the station thinking I'll just jump on the train and be back in moments, if I go out for food first then it will take another hour. But of course the subway isn't there and it's an hour commute, how could I let myself run out of food? People are looking at me I want to smack them I keep waiting for the train I need food, 1 a.m. without food on the subway platform and I'm angry at myself for wanting to go out even though I hate going out, wanting sex even though I don't know where to find it at least I used to know where to find sex, even outdoors where the smoke wouldn't matter but that place has already been erased from memory almost, when Paula was driving me out to Killer’s where I'm staying now we ran right into the gates of Stuyvesant Park, locked gates locked off memories if nothing else New York should offer sex instead of strange not-quite nostalgia because I know I hated living here but I didn't hate Stuyvesant Park 1 a.m. overload of sensation yes that sensation when overload means overload means yes.

I can't believe I went into Manhattan to get an amino acid formula that helps me not to get so hypoglycemic so fast or maybe it's faster here anyway faster with the mood swings exhaustion as soon as I leave the house but then I'm stuck, stuck getting where I was going except not the amino acids, dinner and at first I can barely function I mean I just ate 15 minutes ago in the subway I'm eating again before eating but conversation, how? But then it works, the white tiles of the wall in the restaurant and the bathroom is like a dance club, I like bathrooms like dance clubs and vegan Thai food that's mild enough for me to eat and then I actually feel like I'm ready for more, something more like my lips all over someone's face or just music for a few minutes if I was in San Francisco I would know it was time to go home before I crashed or jump in a cab right at the moment or even if I was still staying where I was staying before, 11th St. and 6th Ave. in my own apartment like a New York dream where you walk outside and it’s all there if you crash then it's just a few blocks not the reality of living here and waiting for the subway sitting on the overheated train walking too far in the cold even though I love the cold in New York it's the only time when we air doesn't quite assault me or if it assaults me then at least I can breathe.

At least the cold invigorates me, I'm telling stories of ending up in 4 a.m. coke dens but then as soon as it’s back into someone's apartment the heat not the heat I can't function anymore that's how I run out of food. Only New York do I want to go out, is it New York or is it because that's what I did when I lived here? Back on the subway platform, tired and angry and tired and angry but at least I don't want cocktails, they don't sound appealing at all I just want to scream or kick a wall or kiss someone or fall down until the rats get too close or the wrong person's shoes but then it's the heated train and I can hardly keep my eyes open I'm so tired the heat shuts my brain down I just want sleep and my lips are chapped.


Cheryl said...

I really enjoy your writing.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Thank you so much, Cheryl!

Love --