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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


06.07.02

Behind me, a FOR RENT sign hangs forlornly in the blinded window of the formerly massage parlor. Across the street, "Devil in a Blue Dress" is playing at the Fine Arts Cinema, a not-corporate theatre closing late, late June. In transit/ion, I think, waiting for a green light at Haste and Shattuck. As hungry as I've been the last few months, my feet is still on the earth.

7 reasons:

1. during the first chapter of I Gave You All I Had, a novel by Zoé Valdés, I had to put the book down, to fan myself properly after the very hot and too brief scene between two femmes in gold and scarlet lamé dresses. I heart books where things get so queer on heels, you "[can] practically smell the yolk." Gawddamn.

2. Hoefler Text makes writing letters and magazine articles seem so much more glamorous.

3. my roommates have been departed for months. Under the livingroom skylight, I slumber, no longer a tight ball of flesh and muscle. Yep, never live with anyone who prefers to conduct their relationships, platonic or not, on speed. No more lying, no more stealing, no more men who can't look at you straight, no more early-morning sudden awakenings and oops, sorry I walked in on you and...

4. last night, sleepy I met my new neighbors, tall lanky boys offering a midnight feast of brownbagged donuts and coffee and "a big j." Later, I could hear laughter downstairs, of the late-night-and-carefree-'cuz-my-only-responsibility-is-summer-school sort. (Were the donuts glazed? Powdered? Warm or not at all? I hafta wonder--I mean, I did spend some of my formative years in a donut shop.)

5. beignets and raspberry coulis with coffee.

6. Shalimar on Jones: garlic naan and all-you-can-imbibe chai--not the fancy boxed too-many-spices kind, but the kind Rini and So and Shilps would brew, too many summer evenings ago, when we were laughing in that late-night-and-carefree kinda way.

7. it's warm, especially for Berkeley, 9pm. Girls in filmy skirts or muscle tees, boots to here or pearl-tipped toes, sandal-clad. Laundry slung over shoulder, I am dreamy under darkening skies; in my head unwind enchantments and unspells, movies new and short-short like summer, quickly.






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