heavy.heart.

Today I remembered he lonlienest night of my entire existance. I was shy but discreetly pretty in my low heels and simple dress at a warehouse disco dance party.  There were trannies in glitter a-plenty, cutting up the dance floor and casually exchanging chatter and kisses. I moon-bounced with a lesbian couple, one being an over-friendly cancer-leo cuspian jumping in a cat suit, the other an overly-cold and jealous, almost mute dark-haired bitch. With a belly freshly filled with whiskey I slid down a plastic side in order to escape the tension within the tent.  I grabbed my little silver shoes and went to rejoin the friend I with whom i had come.  We shared cigarettes on grass in a circle of people who were not impressed with my lack in knowledge to the references they made to many obscure films and fashion designers. I went to the bathroom and lost sight of my friend.  I phoned and phoned with no response. Everywhere I looked were pretty faces and costume-clad towers of men and women. I grew drunker and drunker. I grew more fearful as well. I left the party to try to catch the train.  After walking a few city blocks in a bad area with sparkling streets of broken glass, I discovered that I had just missed the last one.  I called the few people I was comfortable enough with to consider close.  A couple expressed slight concern, but not enough to rouse them to come to my rescue. I was walking back to the warehouse party, where I would be unable to find my friend.  I would walk to his car and behind it, perch on the curb, release many floods or tears and urine, and hope with all my heart no neighbor would find me and be frightened. But before that… On my trek back the the warehouse, I passed a group of pretty people clinging closely and walking wobble-legged.  One handsome man called to me in a sassy manner; “Hey!  Someone needs to be walking with you.  Not me!  But somebody!”

Our cameras capture chimera —a mirage of fortunes far too great for our fat fingers

Rare: a man who knows all. Rarer: a man who knows all and is content.

And somehow it seems homelessness produces the best sleep for this little girl. Every two days I change homes and changes beds and observe how individuals take their coffee and fill or kill their free time with books n’ / err booze. Know what I mean?