Don’t forget, we could always do it your way, with paste and glue and warm guilt. That’s what you want it to be, anyway. High pitched thunderstorms, red-hot clouds, dark stars and the like—these are not fantasies. Watch. I wake up in a sweaty panic. The hum of the air conditioner filters from your lips and hot air, like a dragon, from your nose. A fire breathing, flame eating, burning man. There is a slideshow of this evening’s events on my bedroom wall. These things will all be forgotten, the way you prescribe. I hide under a holocaust cloak and wait for morning.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth