m-i-s-s-i-s-s

i'm back in new york. in brooklyn to be exact. and ecstatic to be back.

this photo by David Benjamin Sherry from the new york magazine fashion issue remind me of the rainy day i spent driving through mississippi. i love it.

new york city

I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough

-Bob Dylan

wonderful world

my younger brother serenaded me with this song

from the road...

a real road picture.
taken somewhere in west texas.

dream

i adore this song by alice smith.

When I wake up in the morning time, I
Like to see you sleepin by my side...

newspapers

i asked jack, "well how do you like fame?" he said, "it's like old newspapers blowing down bleecker street."

-mardou fox

back in l.a.

dropped off our cross-country car at a port in the bay area yesterday. it was a wacky experience getting there, leaving it there, and making my way out of there. my eyes were glazed over though and my mind was somewhere else altogether, so i didn't really mind the experience, which i can imagine would have been aggravating under another mindset. leaving the car was strange--i had no safety net anymore. i had to pack up all of my loose belongings in my red suitcase and actively rely on the kindness of strangers for directions. i was directed to a bus stop outside of the car port, where i sat alone atop my suitcase waiting for the empty bus to arrive and take me to the BART station, at which i would board a train that would leave me in san francisco. once in the city, my red suitcase and i made our way to the greyhound station, having stopped for a sandwich and some gatorade on the way. there i bought a one way ticket to l.a. and sat on my suitcase to wait like i would all day for l.a. to come, while madness ensued in the station around me. bus travel in america is sensational. while i was on the road, i kept wondering where all the hitchers were--i think they've moved on to buses. man, these people! i made it to l.a. right after nightfall, having spent the bulk of the afternoon sleeping, reading, and daydreaming while sitting next to a portly mexican grandmother whose company i didn't mind at all until she brought the remnants of her fast food french fries back to our row after the meal break. now i'm in l.a. and i can only think about new york. i guess its a good thing to want to go home after a long, epic vacation--it must mean i've accomplished what i intended and i'm ready to return.

LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; New York gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.

-jack kerouac