New stuff

Out of the west came a hellcat with eyes that shifted and searched, and I'm a taken man now. I live life and every momen is wasted without my midwest beauty by my side. Those of you who know me know I'm not one for sentimentality, no nothing but high melodrama for me, and yet here I am, swooning, in love, and taking such steps as to be the stereotype, the male lover, the letters in the mail and the stolen sighs. Say what you will for this, but it changes everything. Complain, bitch and moan, but all I know is that I feel better now. Yes, I feel better now. Trisha, I love you.

Well, can we both dig it?

Never mind the inevitable fade of the best of boston, that gradual trickle down to Brooklyn. We've got Aletheas and Ingy's, Dudeks and the rest of them. We've got Scott coming in on a greyhound looking haggard and stumbling to the first liquor store we can find. We've got paramours across the country and houses filled with dust and all that remains of last nights party.

I understand if some of my friends hear the siren song and take off, by-the-by, Timmy, you are a dirt-covered whore, but Boston still has enough for me.

A long post, dramatically shortened

I can't begin to describe the past month and a half. Words don't do the trick, they show up in the morning half-glare as easily as Inman Sq. addicts looking for their fix, but I turn them away just as easily. They just don't fit the tumult in my head. How easily one's world can just be turned around.

All this is to say that maybe, once Scott is here, I can start updating in earnest.

I think only of you . . .