My love for sin, the need for more
Today I met a guy on my adventuring around NYC (with the smashing doll-parts.tumblr.com) and met a promising bloke. Clean, well dressed, able to form intelligent sentences, etc. we exchange numbers and I allow him to meet up with me later on to hang out. And this is where my sense of adventure clouds out my judgement. Because what a fucking horrible mistake.
Things are cool. We go back to his rooftop to smoke, and I find he is a devastatingly amazing artist who also happens to design for none other than Marc Jacobs himself. He insists on taking me out to dinner. So we walk down to the Tribeca waterfront in search of a post-weed meal. And this is where things get hilarious.
Aside from trying to be overtly touchy with me, he starts making comments about how he ‘loves all the attention he’s getting by being with me’. I just laugh and let the damn fool relish in it a bit. We find a chow spot, and let me tell you all, I hate a man who chooses to sit next to you at a table as opposed to opposite you when on a date. That in itself speaks margins about the person. Immediately he is all over me, trying to massage my shoulders and running his hands through my hair. He made these offhanded comments about wanting to ‘possess me’ and whenever I would text on my phone say ‘don’t be texting other guys when you’re with me’. I constantly found myself saying ‘SPACE’. And had to out and out tell the guy ‘dude. Stop. I fucking don’t like that.’
So I worked the bonehead for a $200 meal plus drinks, got him super drunk, left him at the table and caught a cab home.
Needless to say the only dates I will be having from now on will be with mochi ice cream and episodes of Spartacus with myself.
We grow mad to chase and possess things that are so beautiful and rare that we get carried away and end up destroying them in the process.
This is very kind of you to say. I am newly unattached. And sometimes, no matter how much you have to give, it is not enough. Harsh truth.
Sometimes we have to steep ourselves in pain, like teabags in hot water until our very essences are extracted and left swirling, hot, and pungent. Then we need to take that cup and drink it all back in and what once seemed to tear at our very ligaments has refortified our soul.
…all I have to say is the only person’s view on ‘punk’ I will ever heed is Vivienne Westwood’s. All other opinions are null and void.
sheer and utter laziness
My favorite from the Met’s #punkexhibit: Head-to-toe Versace Fall 1992. RW
So if any of you cats will be there, look for me! I’ll be stalking the Rammstein boys and attempting to sit in Lemmy’s lap.
Of making the assumption that I am going to try to steal their girlfriends. I have been completely oblivious to this until recently where two of my babes have told me that their boyfriends get extremely jealous whenever they hang out with me. One of them even uses my name whenever she gets into verbal spouts with him.
So I’m left wondering if I’m giving off some sort of weird lesbian vibe. I am aware that I give off both masculine and feminine energies. Sometimes one more powerful than the other. But always interchanging.
And this is a completely bad thing because it opens up my mind to whole new manipulation possibilities. Hahaha.
I work for a Film/Television Talent Agency called The Right Eye.