las tres cosas.

quiet space to think. that’s all i’ve needed lately. that’s all i’ve given myself. months of meeting new people, performing in hyper intense and essential life-altering situations left this hairline tear along my inseam. like when soft lips crack in the in-between; everything is gold except for where the edges peeled. instincts to run, ghost, hide, dip fluttered and beat, swirled behind my eyes as almost possible. but man, it ain’t even that serious, right? so i was overwhelmed, all the pretty ways to say don’t make it any more serious than that.

overwhelmed is overused anyway. i’m tired of being unimpressed. so i’ll take being pushed into hyperdrive. still quiet space. needed. quiet space. it comes with not speaking or just speaking less. read. more. still wanted to be close to the far away ones, the ones that love across state lines and past the equator. the ones that don’t have to love, the only ones you want around sometimes. how to be close but far? read the things. read the blogs. absorb pieces of the quiet space that others create for themselves.

so the first of las tres cosas is an excerpt from the final post of this girl called automatic win.

Riese on the act of missing people:

I am far away from so many things but I have no room to miss you. I miss you too much to miss you. 

16 years ago I had a choice: open your heart to the prospect of wanting to see a person you’ll never see again, or stop wanting. I chose the latter. 

I chose not to miss anybody. I just want to see you. We’ll pick up where we left off. The phone calls and emails in between seem oddly tedious, like oil changes you’re abstractly aware your car needs to keep running although you’ve still got no idea what an oil change actually is. Or maybe you do, and that’s one of the 400 things about the world I missed in favor of catching the things nobody else cares about. But the phone calls and the emails do remind me of having you near, and make me miss you more, and want to see you more. But like I said I miss you too much to miss you. 

If I let myself miss people I would miss everyone. I just want to see you. I will get on a plane and see you soon enough, or you’ll get on a plane and see me soon enough, if you can wait. We’ll pick up where we left off. We always do! In the meantime, I think about you and write about you every day…

Done. Those are my feelings, maybe with a bit more novela-esque dramatics but yeah. CoSign.

Part two of las tres cosas.

A queer gave me a bar of chocolate over beer and the mechanic grumble of an ice machine. Gifts are always appreciated. Chocolate can get you my boy-shorts or at least a round on me. But i’m definitely more of a brownies and cookies type of queer, something that feels soft in my mouth and tastes of chocolate and bread. fuck it. i don’t like candy. i don’t like blasts of too much of something good. hence my discrimination against cupcakes.

anyway, anyway. so bar of chocolate, the gift from the queer poet. brethrensisteren if you will. slipped it in my pocket, walked to the train pleased about the chocolate bar’s shape. rectangles are prisms of order that click all the right switches in my brain. it’s a shape that provides enough canvas for minor details without leaving too much room for ambiguity. trained it to the bronx. didn’t have to dodge the usual suspects on the ave. dropped chocolate bar onto small table. also, did I mention chilis? did I mention this was hippie lesbian chocolate? like the olympia, washington queer rebbel fat-dyke tattooed badass bar of chocolate? maybe i forgot that part, my b’s. so i don’t do chilis in my chocolate or dark chocolate but but…i have such a sweet tooth. 2am. puttering around the crib. scribbling fragments of ideas into pieces of paper, wondering why it takes a roach 2 days to die on it’s back and wishing for sleep. then thought of chocolate and soothing lavender rectangles. i was gifted with the most delicious chocolate bar on this earth and i’d be a complete fuck if i didn’t share it with you.

thanks, red. best chocolate bar ever in life. thank you, Wild Ophelia, for making magic and putting it inside of purple rectangles.

Last but not least, tres of tres.

music. if you know me, know me, then you know what my favorite song is and that it’s the same song i want played at my funeral party. the same song played at my imaginary wedding. same song i want to dance to with the kids i don’t have. the same song i’ve played at every party i’ve thrown since i was 18 when i woke up and realized it was the greatest song on the planet. so i played it over and over again on my way to work on thursday but all of this build up and i’m not gonna post it. that’s something you gotta get from me in person, close enough to dance with me, close enough to drink a beer.

so instead, here’s a track that surprised me when i saw it/heard it live at terminal 5. this band -CREEP- was the opener for opener for the gossip. they were weirdos dressed in black like stereotypes of french artists, noir but with a courtney love inspired bit of grungey-ness, surrounded by keyboards and lasers and right in my lane. and then of all the people and the groups in all of music land, Nina fucking Sky comes out? like the ‘move your body’ sisters? thank you, world. the song is strange and awesome and they look like hot lesbians. i think one of them might be familia? idk. happy saturday.

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