Hipster Hater, Hippy Hater, Hater-Hater
And whose fault is that?
“A Tall Tale of Leaky Borders”
Somewhere in the high rise there lay a portion of an afternoon napping in a fragment of ice. Trouble waylaid its desktop to see through to Avenue D.
Where was the morning now? Its pieces were now lonely memories and I wish they would share themselves again. The second floor of the New York City Public Library on 42nd street was a disappointing backlit display, but the stairs up were 1800 short steps of marble eloquence and I left for aging pages.
Green chairs are conducive to public space because we like to move things. The chairs were empty, the steps were empty. Cell phones from the streets looked up at the library point and shoot, and cabs scuttled by like up-town bugs going faster. My mind laced morning, future, and all love together and I am amazed at how badly I always wish that I could mix lives all of them that don’t fit into mine or I have left behind.
New York City is a thermometer never a season, and I needed my coat for the wind and chilliness that is a fake - real New York is inside everyone knows you pay for it. I walked through so much I forgot the temperature and I was hot. The trees I saw were spring trees. Where has the fall gone? I haven’t been home in two months and New York is robbing me of my ability to write coherently the enormity of place makes me feel like it will all come down because the Empire State Building looks down on me, leans over me, vengefully grows purple and red until midnight.
The problem is I am the problem is I still the problem is there is always a problem and this will be beautiful and fragile in its own way in hindsight. It is wonderful to be in love even if I’ve lost the morning, even though I am always hoping for his happiness, even when I can’t stop thinking about his skin and the rooms that disappear into the rest of the world when we’re focused on each other. I love him so much right now that there is overflow and I’ve already loved him into the next month and the one after that, but who can say forever when it doesn’t mean anything?
I want to help save the world and I’m doing so little to accomplish this besides reading and schooling and allowing my brain to be filled by so many footnotes. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing is like the walk from home to school down the long Avenues in the shade in the wide street light shining from the straight line that cuts to the top of Manhattan and the banana I sometimes buy on the way and the fences I rib my eyes over. The extreme joy I felt two nights ago to say hello to everyone and love the sudden bends in the road and the smiles in the streets, both things that don’t exist everywhere but I saw them one night! I smiled to see what wasn’t there and then it was there. Two girls walked past Joe coffee shop and I wonder if they are New Yorkers smiling and holding hands and oblivious to the laptops the work the library. My real life is a fake real life! I was happy for them.
In the morning it was no longer morning by the time I was out of bed, by the time he followed me into the kitchen and grated an apple for pancakes. The sheets on my floor futon are white and the piles of blankets and comforters are white and they lay in comfortable heaps down the center, across the middle, and at the foot tracing a path to the floor. I could see that the day was blue because it reflected in a window. The time is never right when he is here because I don’t pay attention. Did we really fall asleep at 6:30 this morning? I made coffee for myself at 2:30 and called my hyperactive home friend who wants to hike this week, he asked me if I was just getting up and I lied, yes, and it was a Halloween party last night.
Jersey City! Jersey City! Pretty purple lights, they beautiful BEAUTIFUL amazing Halloween job decorations and cauldrons and punch and the taste of candy corn went predictably rotten in my mouth by the end of the night, too much! Sneezing in fits to myself I also talked to the party people sitting on the floor and hating college together, I hate being a hater I’m not one and stop talking to me I always thought I would like to love instead. I am a hippy hater, hipster hater, hater hater and I like nice things, like long walks and snow and trying to be happy even though it’s difficult to do something that isn’t hating.
Welcome to my apartment! I listened to the same song twice already today and I want to hear it again. I thought I might take a bath and do my homework, but I wrote this instead.
“A Tall Tale of Leaky Borders”
Somewhere in the high rise there lay a portion of an afternoon napping in a fragment of ice. Trouble waylaid its desktop to see through to Avenue D.
Where was the morning now? Its pieces were now lonely memories and I wish they would share themselves again. The second floor of the New York City Public Library on 42nd street was a disappointing backlit display, but the stairs up were 1800 short steps of marble eloquence and I left for aging pages.
Green chairs are conducive to public space because we like to move things. The chairs were empty, the steps were empty. Cell phones from the streets looked up at the library point and shoot, and cabs scuttled by like up-town bugs going faster. My mind laced morning, future, and all love together and I am amazed at how badly I always wish that I could mix lives all of them that don’t fit into mine or I have left behind.
New York City is a thermometer never a season, and I needed my coat for the wind and chilliness that is a fake - real New York is inside everyone knows you pay for it. I walked through so much I forgot the temperature and I was hot. The trees I saw were spring trees. Where has the fall gone? I haven’t been home in two months and New York is robbing me of my ability to write coherently the enormity of place makes me feel like it will all come down because the Empire State Building looks down on me, leans over me, vengefully grows purple and red until midnight.
The problem is I am the problem is I still the problem is there is always a problem and this will be beautiful and fragile in its own way in hindsight. It is wonderful to be in love even if I’ve lost the morning, even though I am always hoping for his happiness, even when I can’t stop thinking about his skin and the rooms that disappear into the rest of the world when we’re focused on each other. I love him so much right now that there is overflow and I’ve already loved him into the next month and the one after that, but who can say forever when it doesn’t mean anything?
I want to help save the world and I’m doing so little to accomplish this besides reading and schooling and allowing my brain to be filled by so many footnotes. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing is like the walk from home to school down the long Avenues in the shade in the wide street light shining from the straight line that cuts to the top of Manhattan and the banana I sometimes buy on the way and the fences I rib my eyes over. The extreme joy I felt two nights ago to say hello to everyone and love the sudden bends in the road and the smiles in the streets, both things that don’t exist everywhere but I saw them one night! I smiled to see what wasn’t there and then it was there. Two girls walked past Joe coffee shop and I wonder if they are New Yorkers smiling and holding hands and oblivious to the laptops the work the library. My real life is a fake real life! I was happy for them.
In the morning it was no longer morning by the time I was out of bed, by the time he followed me into the kitchen and grated an apple for pancakes. The sheets on my floor futon are white and the piles of blankets and comforters are white and they lay in comfortable heaps down the center, across the middle, and at the foot tracing a path to the floor. I could see that the day was blue because it reflected in a window. The time is never right when he is here because I don’t pay attention. Did we really fall asleep at 6:30 this morning? I made coffee for myself at 2:30 and called my hyperactive home friend who wants to hike this week, he asked me if I was just getting up and I lied, yes, and it was a Halloween party last night.
Jersey City! Jersey City! Pretty purple lights, they beautiful BEAUTIFUL amazing Halloween job decorations and cauldrons and punch and the taste of candy corn went predictably rotten in my mouth by the end of the night, too much! Sneezing in fits to myself I also talked to the party people sitting on the floor and hating college together, I hate being a hater I’m not one and stop talking to me I always thought I would like to love instead. I am a hippy hater, hipster hater, hater hater and I like nice things, like long walks and snow and trying to be happy even though it’s difficult to do something that isn’t hating.
Welcome to my apartment! I listened to the same song twice already today and I want to hear it again. I thought I might take a bath and do my homework, but I wrote this instead.