it's snowing on the upper west side of manhattan. the drugs have been kicking in for a while. i think my illness is largely influenced by anxiety. i have so much to do when i get back. i am trying to enjoy myself here, and i really am but i havent felt well in a while. i dont know if i am going to be the same when i return. absence does make the heart do something, beat arrythmically. the first person narrative is more appealing than the omniscent guise of objectivism.
so the apartment i am in, is beautiful. he works for the new yorker. in LA, they all want to act. in NY everyone has master's degrees and has been published. tough crowd. it would be nice to hear from some of you, but i know the holidays are a time for self involvement and introspection. compassion dulls the neuro receptors.
the cure in between days
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"the holidays are a time for self involvement and introspection. compassion dulls the neuro receptors."
Funny how I knew that but didn't realize it until I read it. Evidence why we're friends. That night I had a shitty conversation with a barfly about how my writing is influenced by the idea that my whole life consists of setting a mood and dining with Death....and trannies.
weird, i was in nyc for that new year's eve too. but it wasn't snowing in brooklyn that night.
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