i like living inside.

drugged sleeping awaits

that's part of who i am--the writer, locked up in my room...

embedded in that ability to spend long hours singularly focussed is the desire to be alone.

(alone but not lonely, with loved ones just down the way)

i reread the post i wrote this year on the anniversary. it was the expression of a simple wish, a desire to shut down and stop after a day of work and running around the city. it was so beautiful out, as it is today, as it was for those string of days after 9/11.

so beautiful but some how too much

The city was its usual magnificent self—a flowing, churning, glistening machine made up of people and shiny metal parts, chrome skyscraper art deco facades and bright bricks in the sunlight and the steam that rises and the rushing water going down millions of drains.

the city is a lover and a friend and a teacher

One is filled with a desire for it all—everything at once. All the sounds and smells and buildings bending upwards with jet planes criss crossing high above them.

The insatiable longing of forever being on the edge of it all—in NYC, as in heaven, the circumference is the center and the center is the circumference.

the flames pour out of open windows in our hearts

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