He kinda has a John Travolta, Jimmy Dean thing goin on–it’s the snarl.

And now I’m out over $40,000

My dream team…Dizzy Dean, Satchel Paige (greatest pitcher of all time) and Lou Gehrig

This photo makes me want to purchase flannel and/or go camping.

On the left. His name is Aaron and he skates for zooyork (betty betty betty). This isn’t my picture because I was too scared to photograph him, but I did speak to the golden god. He has a daughter and very straight, white teeth.

Trying to electrocute yourself with a Mexican torture device and then giving yourself a tattoo because it’s Monday

beef cake: cheese steak.

I met john at union square 6 years ago

visit barry at old made vintage off lorimer. shout out

Tom Petty/ Creedence should be playing in your head right now

ok, maybe not, but, PUUPPPPIEEESSSSS

Must type with left hand am coming right now JHBBYGTFHKCDGHVBKXDNN?L?BLGUCXGCCGHVGBJ  KNMLKKL:<LHJKL<MNBVBN

he’s stoked bc there are GIRLSSSS

There sure are a lot of them

((Inside the Actor’s studio))

lol

I really want to hold your dirty hands… I broke my rib at this show, haha

helllllllllllllllloooo

Anyway, the texts are always a different sort of reality; cowboys rarely speak the way they write, delivering succinct messages reliant upon the invisible network in the wind. What has he said? Let me look to the mocking time capsule cell phone for an example, of what must get lost in translation.

Simple things, like “I love you…” or “I love taking you”

Me- “I look like summer”

J- “You think like beauty”

Me- “How do I taste?”

J- “Like a perfect dream”

“Your little hands around me back and forth”

Me- “Wrap around me…your lips on my legs”

J- “Do I feel good inside you?”

Me- “Like a perfect dream”

J- “I want to keep you somehow”

And there are emails…

Me: ramble into sunset. reminds me of hard wood you

want to hear your voice…
x

x to me

I love your hands

hair

smell

skin

laugh

taste

imagination

never could have enough

should have stole your heart

This doesn’t seem like anything, and it really isn’t, but there is something peripherally romantic about the whole scene. And then this morning…

J- “When are you moving to San Francisco?”

Me- “When are you moving inside me?”

J- “While you laid on your side marinated from the sun, I pulled your hair up to kiss the angel hair on your neck I slid inside you deep and slow, ”

Perfect dream indeed. We met on a hot day on the subway. The F train. The sun was shining in, so low, like it does at 6pm in June. He was wearing this white shirt and jeans, and I kept looking back at him looking back at me, until he smiled and I let out a sort of giggle. When it was my stop I ran really quick, because the whole thing was ridiculous. He was right behind me. I think he said something about marrying me, and then asked what I was listening to (Jesus and Mary Chain). We kissed before I transferred, I was surprised he kissed me—he did it in a sneaky way. Man, I remember we both had the biggest smiles when we left each other.

Props where props is due. More of the oz’s work here: www.sprppl.com

I spent everyday when I was 15 at a  skateshop:

http://vice.typepad.com/vice_magazine/2009/05/new-york-bay-ridge-full-circle.html

Summer in Brooklyn, with its pink sky post twilight, the first beer at 4, salt in your hair & sand in your bag, kissing on benches in a dusky haze…

When the night takes over and you go with the wind

I spend the night of my birthday drinking champagne on a fire escape in SoHo.  The boy whose escape it is has long blonde hair.  His hair is too long and too blonde.  He is from Iowa where his hair was short and blonde, but he has not cut it since he moved to the city.  I tie my hair up because the moisture in the air has made it overwhelmingly wide.  He lets his fall onto his intriguing shoulders.  He sits so close to me—our backs rest against his window, our legs stretch out along the bars, our bodies fill the space that was between them.

He pours champagne into our glasses until we have finished the bottle.  I tell him sometimes my birthday makes me not sad exactly, but lonely, maybe.  He says that’s what birthdays do.  I hold my glass by its stem, balance it on my knee.  I watch the bubbles—they are as small as pinpricks, wide as a strand of hair, and they rush to the surface insuch straight lines.  I was taught that this is a sign of quality.  I feel the bubbles inside me, tickling my stomach, my tongue, floating out to my fingers, my eyes.  I ask him what it was like, growing up in Iowa.  He tells me of his father, the farmer.  Raised him on the land, huge acres swallowing up his house, cornfields so thick he got lost sometimes.  The earth is solid where he is from; here, everything is suspended, shaky, the gaps in this fire escape larger than the rusting black slats.  He runs his fingers through his hair when he talks, as though he were the girl, I the boy.  As though he were trying to attract me.

All this hair, like all this city, is still so new to him.  He says, more to himself than to me, that one day soon, maybe when his lease is up, he’ll move to Spain and, eventually, own a vineyard.  He’ll craft the perfect, darker-than-blood, full-bodied wine.  He says this as though there is nothing that could ever stop him.  He can keep running; his hair can keep growing; he can move between cities and countries and he can fit into each so perfectly. The sun begins to rise.  It is hidden from us but its rays curl up over the buildings, its light bounces between glass windows, it reaches us and weaves itself into the boy’s hair.  His hair is gold. His hair is corn silk.  His hair glitters with potential.

I spent last night with a stranger. Rich, young (maybe/probably younger than me), piercing blue eyes, leonardo-esque speech, so smart, powerful due to powerful father, probably troubled. He was a Nolan, and a Brian, mostly a Dicaprio.

I went to scenic with Natalia, Belle, Ali, and Natlaia’s cousin Alex. We drank, I sang and danced; it was one of those perfect nights where everyone is up for everything and the cold air makes the skin sting. As soon as we were in, I grabbed Natalia and went downstairs. A guy in a fitted started dancing with me, and his friend started dancing with my friend. I brought the 4 of us together and squeezed the shoulder of the friend, who was so preppy he looked like a school-boy. He left, I got rid of ghetto kid, and we all treked upstairs.

Officially drunk and hot I needed air. I had removed my shirt and was in this black polka dot bra; Talia and I greeted people as they walked in. School boy came over. I fucked with him a bit, just being all waifish and elusive.

The three of us started dancing, and he turned. Natalia got behind him, he grabbed me… and that was it. He said he “wanted me”. He didn’t remember her in the morning.

I licked his nose, smiled, we got dangerously close- and then, like there are always in those moments, that second where its like holy shit its gonna happen, when is it gonna happen ,OMG its happening… and we made contact. His tongue was sweet. He tasted like my first kiss. We held hands, made out all night. We were together. It felt good. He’s gorgeous. And he said to me (repeatedly) “oh my god, you’re so sexy. You’re ridiculous, do you know how sexy you are. Look at yourself. Oh my god.”

I wound up at his,  propped onto the kitchen cabinent. He was by the refrigerator. He turned around and saw me and made this like “ooouu” sound, grabbing himself as though he were in pain, like I was too much; and then : “You’re beautiful. Every part of you is beautiful. I want to have sex with you and all that but I just want to hold you and scream your name and shit. I wanna wake up with you next to me.”

He did.

I didn’t sleep all night. I fell asleep around 9, and slept until about 12. I think there was some 20 minute shit thrown in there, but mostly insomnia and thoughts of Andrew. I fell asleep lying on top of him. It was hot and I woke up all angrified. He said I snored. He didn’t let me go all night. Young guys really love to spoon. I forgot to say, his name is Tom. He was posing as his brother who goes to bard. He didn’t hold my hand as we walked to the restaurant on waverly, but the night before I leaned on him in the cab like he was the whole world.  The backseat felt so spacious. It was like a bed for us. I can still almost feel him.

Leo’s face is like the universe. Let’s remember how it once was in best movie ever, Romeo and Juliet

Because these people did…

It’s a “place to think”, hahaha

Perk- there’s always conditioner at his

“When men were men”… at least that’s how I imagine it

http://www.myspace.com/richarddukemusic.

ESPN2HD all day -everyday

Cristiano Ronaldo <3

Abercrombie does it over and over again

blowfish!!!!!

waiting for the train-o

Indo Surf trip

Founder of Superchief.tv, all around guy

DEAN from GILMORE GIRLS!

He’s gotten way hotter…

Also, one million bonus points for being named Jared

::: white teeth black leather :::

BRAAAAAAADDD