looked into your words,
and like a match struck in hel,
i was now your slave.
que sera, sera…
i used to frequent the (super-legit!) massage shops of NYC Chinatown a lot. I swear to God, better than painkillers they are for over a decade. There’s one in particular on Grand St. between Lafayette and Broadway, basement level. When I could afford it, I would go… they’re also quite affordable as compared to usual rates in NYC. (Maybe the same as Astoria, though… idk.)
it restores the dull flame of desire in me. it’s been at least two months since i’ve gone. (once upon a time there, i [redacted].)
you would have to ask me in person for that detail. it was… strange.
in a way, it was an all-or-nothing kind of situation…
I always wondered who Renata was. I was 14, and she sent me a picture of herself striking a pose. We spoke regularly about everyday life, and ended our conversations with 💕’s. I knew that she was from somewhere in South America… maybe Argentina?
Another memory locked away in my hardened heart, an unusually tender one. Usually I’d be a miserable /b/tard this time of year. Maybe it’s because it’s 60℉ in New York City four days after the winter solstice…
LSD, or any other thing, doesn’t compare to the feeling of really loving someone. You know? Like that dream scene in Mr. Robot where the girl injects heroin into Eliot’s arms and then gets on top of him… I mean, that’s the best way that I could explain how love feels to me… ‘cept it’s a much lower tension thing, and constantly pulling on your heart’s strings.
makes me act… so out of character.