New Years Resolutions 2009, Revisited

you can tell by her smile she's a love child.

the first step of Drunken Isphahan-Inspired Cupcakes: in a bowl, mix raspberry wine, rose syrup and dried rose petals. add a handful of lychees. soak.

a girl had painted herself silver and bared her breasts in the night air, nipples swollen and purple as grapes. he was a shape in the garden, full of blood and hormones. smile, show some teeth. we should stay unreal forever. he says when you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out.

"I remember when I first arrived in London from Budapest and saw these little queens show off their goose-bump skin and they smiled their big smiles, and screamed and jumped around like crazy beans. I remember thinking, now I'm in a city."

one thing one must learn is how to confront people that at that particular moment,
one cannot bear to meet.

this movie, enclosed in tight spaces and colored in deep red seems to take place in the veins and arteries of a long, painful dream. all the exotic girls with neck tattoos below the dunkin' donuts sign on my break, chattering like spanish birds. one had a busted lip, a red ribbon in her hair.

I tried to write "city" and wrote "children cry". I am supposed to file taxes, but the news says, nonchalantly, as of 01/14/09, one thousand palestinians have died fighting.

New Years Resolution: No More Heartbreak.
I've already failed, again and again and again. L. makes fun of me for crying about the skinned pears, but I desperately want that tongue against the collarbones.
the soft insides of knees and elbows and iliac crests that I can hold.

the Talmud says 930 kinds of death were created in the world. the most difficult is diphtheria, the easiest is a kiss. the kiss is what is called the mise binishike, which is how you kill the 6 people over whom the angel of death has no sway- such a person dies by the mouth of God.

L. says, "I think I was counting D.'s buttons. and he was helping me. but he wasn't drunk. I was like, I have one button. he was like, I have...he counted them, and then said the number.
and then I counted them. and was like, you have -number- more than me."

spent three hours talking a friend down from a roof. eventually I said, "I'll make you lyonnaise potatoes." he shrugged and climbed back inside the window. dice an onion, fry in brown in a full tablespoon of butter. add another tablespoon to the iron spider while frying, until the butter spits and spackles. slice six big, boiled potatoes, knife into the palm, thickly. spread them and fry on both sides, tossing to prevent black crackling. sprinkle sea salt or parsley and bring them to the table very hot.