mmmarilyn;

a big-city fairy tale.

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{a photo project, 2006}

early early sunday, november 5, 2006.

Fundamentalists, one hopes, will come to see why most will fail to convert, share their identity, and coalesce with them in power moves. . . . Conversation permits people to be themselves while hearing others and remaining open to certain measures of change in the give and take which sustains human life.

from research on a personal project that I hope to unveil soon

12.51am

curled in bed, twinkling xmas lights around me like a corona

I would deem this having been a relatively rough weekend thus far, indicative of how much I would have resisted the idea of moving to NY a year ago if I had known exactly what what in store (I say this in part because I have some disdain for the frivolous thoughtless girl I was a year ago). Key dramatic images include: standing on the see and be seen intersection of Brooklyn in a sweet little outfit and just feeling frustrated and uncertain while the hip kids whizzed around. I got back on the subway. Having a paper grocery bag bust as I exited the turnstile of my stop, a wine bottle shatter. As I make attempts to clean up (two people offered me their own plastic bags, one guy bought me a beer at a cash only bar the other night when I had no cash: let it not be said that New York does not have its own brand of hospitality) a dude is like, "Girl, that bag is broken all the way!" Yes thanks, I noticed, is what I told him. And I went back to picking up pieces of glass covered in blood red wine.

I thought I had lost my phone for an hour or two, and immediately felt as if someone had cut off an arm or a leg-- it is my only way to talk to bo right this second right now I need to talk to him now

But I have warm butternut squash soup, and a good book that tells me things I need to hear

For need can blossom into all the compensation it requires. To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth and when do our senses know anything so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing—the world will be made whole.

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