Hello All,
Hope you had a good weekend. Unfortunately, I just couldn’t afford to get drunk. However I did get a chance to get my photography on. I was walking around the West Village and was like, “holy shit, I can smell the salt in the air.” I swear, this overwhelming of familiarity just came over me; and in between blinks, I swore I could see Andrew and Go snaking all my waves again. Yes, it was like a strobelight nightmare.
Well, fuck, I miss the ocean. I feel a little bad — knowing that I’m going to return as a different person. Yes, I now have a vagina and my name is Roberta. Just kidding (but can’t all guys use some vag at their disposal)? I also think I’m going to quit smoking weed, which is insane because, well, because I fucking love smoking weed.
Well, my time is running out in New York and I see how big and vast and monster truck it is; and I do like it. I’ve never eaten so much bomb ass, ethnic food. I won’t miss being cramped on the subway in rush hour though -- you have no idea how many crotches I’ve sniffed while riding the 6 downtown. Some were even unintentional and I couldn’t help but feel like I was on “To Catch A Predator.”
Anyway, so the shops here all want to know other creative pursuits I’m in and I was like, “holy shit. Other than ads, I guess I have this music thing. So I think I might go public with it and set up a blog? I don’t know, do you think posting this stuff with the songs will buy me any favors to showcase my writing/personality/pain/anguish? I’d greatly appreciate the feedback. Either way, today’s song is a depiction of the beautiful ocean that awaits me back home. It’s dope here, I can’t stress it enough..but fuck, a public pool as your only option? That’s, I don’t know...it’ll be hard to accept that the weird thing I just felt wasn’t indeed, seaweed.
Well, here’s a pic I took of the Hudson. I never saw so many guys, sprawled out on grassy knolls, with thongs on and Rollerblades. It was great. The courting process was like a Bee dance. Single guys would be at the edge of the pier. Guys would cruise by on Rollerblades (and thongs....lord knows where the bowties were) and do some spins and twirls in front of the single guys to impress them and see who would take notice. Then it’s like, one quick look and BAM!!!! They swoop in on then and hit them up. I tried imagining what the Rollerblader would have said to the bait, but I would only think that it’d include the word “sailor” in the first sentence and somehow end with a snarled upper lip and a “purrrrrrrrr” -- the kind that would send chills down anyone’s spine. ANYONE’S spine.
On a related note, here’s a pic of a Plastic Company. Peculiar name for the business...
(Maybe for the aforementioned Rollerbladers to slip by airport security undetected?)
Ok, well, since a few of you now don’t know/remember how gorgeous of a person I am, I’m going to end this email with a self-portrait I took with my camera phone. Here I am in the Flatiron district, confirming the “best” Cuban restaurant in Manhattan (Café Habana). And yes, the diarrhea from this restaurant will still taste a million times better than Versailles. I wish I had my camera, camera. It would’ve turned out a lot cooler, and I would’ve been able to Photoshop Vin Diesel’s arms on me.
Either way, enjoy.
-- Sonnyred
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