words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Wednesday, September 03, 2003
New Orleans always holds charm for me, the shuttered windows, the varying colors of the houses, the roofs piled on top of each other reaching towards the sky, the shock of the downtown buildings looking from the smallness of Bourbon street, the trees and birds of Audobon park, the sweaty sultry, drinkable atmosphere, the attitude of the people, that everyday should be effortlessly fun. it's a beautiful city that seems to make its beauty out of its ugliness. the houses are old, but they have such feeling to them, you want to hold their hand as they walk across the street to another decade. the streets in the French Quarter pile up with so much trash, but look at the grins on the people walking around, take a new person with you and watch him gawk at the neon and the craziness. Everyone is sweaty and hot and dirty, but that just increases the vibrancy, the sexuality, all the pheremones dancing around your nose. I've loved New Orleans for five years, when I first visited labor day weekend of 1998, soon after graduating college, after coming out. I had moved down to Biloxi for three months of training and decided to visit New Orleans with some friends, but driving a separate car so i could hang out that night. I looked up the gay district in a Waldenbooks tourist guide, and ran into Southern Decadence by chance. Smaller back then, but just as lively. I met so many men the next few months, visiting almost every weekend, loving the gay atmosphere I had never had, loving the dance floor and the shirts off, loving Royal street where i could walk for endless days, in and out of the glittery ancient stores. Las Vegas tries to be New Orleans, tries to have that gilded charm, the always fun-atmosphere, but if you take any layer off, you see right through to the thin air behind it. In New Orleans, behind every layer of gold paint there's hard wood, a story of the former owner, tenant, french peasant. the stuff the makes up our world, that's been there for centuries; the gold is just make-up to take this elderly bride and keep her beautiful, recognizing that it isn't only youth who has beauty but the richness of a well-lived life, the woven story fabric of many many people. Each time I visit, I'm more a part of that story, see into it a step deeper, feel more a part of it, as if I too am old and have stories upon stories to tell, of what i have seen and done in this sultry city.
2:30 PM
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