The Manzanares

I wander down a street where a gypsy woman in black sings a cante jondo, tremulous and pulsating, from a terraza draped in laundry three flights up.

Released

I went to Sedona on a vision quest many months ago. I sat in a prayer room filled with the smoke of  tobacco, juniper and sweet grass. A man moved the smoke around us with an eagle feather and I saw spring.  A savage green spring so far in the future it felt like a date I will never live to see. 

Out of place

We are in the middle of a warm spell. A  few days out of place. Winter breaking the rules. The lakes have melted. The snow is gone. I took baby for a walk yesterday and he saw birds, maybe for the first time in his little life. Geese flew in a crooked V above us,... Continue Reading →

Winter

I took a stroll down a snow melted path by the Rancocas Creek with my love. We wore invisible red silk threads wrapped around our wrists in honor of our fated devotion as we meandered through a brown, sleeping field. Tiny sparrows crunched under brush on broken sticks.  And the whoo of a gentle wind... Continue Reading →

The perfect meal

I assure you this dish was so divine it threw me into a state of temporary nirvana so profound and so celestial that I became speechless for moments after I had first tasted it...

35 years of journal writing

If I slept with you, you're in these journals. If I partied with you, you're in these journals. If I loved you, you're in these journals. If I worked with you and found you any bit entertaining, you're in these journals. If I cried on your shoulder, or begged you to stay, or hated your fucking guts, you're in these journals.

Home

I read a lot of Henry Miller, got laid, dropped out of my French classes at the Alliance Francaise and existed in such a state of poverty that my friend Karen and I would steal food from her stepdad's house during the day, and then at night, we'd flirt with rich exchange students at the Violon Dingue trying to get them to buy us free drinks.

Raising the dead

I cried this morning. No. I sobbed. Pernille sent me an ordinary email this morning regarding D and I being picked up at the airport upon our arrival in Amsterdam. Within the email it listed the ways in which the others in our group would be coming into the city. We would be coming in from Philadelphia. C would be flying in from London. And E would be taking the train in from Germany, I believe, and didn't need any help getting to the hotel. It was this last bit that reminded me of trains.

Philadelphia is for food & love

It's been a while since I've written, with all the changes that have occurred recently and all, I simply haven't had the time or the inclination to sit down and write. I have also been putting a lot more focus on my other blogs, and so this one has somewhat fallen by the wayside. But... Continue Reading →

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