jolie laide

jolie laide

I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.


It’s hot out, humid. But that is not why my hands are damp. It’s because I am nervous.

Email communication is not working, and I must get this done, now. So it is the old-fashioned way, the physical, visceral way--paper, envelope, stamp. I look at the address, my scrawly handwriting, the first pen I could find, purple ink, embarrassingly girly.

The envelope contains a single piece of paper, hastily signed but long considered. It feels so light, but it is so heavy, containing the focus of an urgent charging passion. No wonder just holding it in my hands makes me sweat.

What I ask for with this missive, this single act, is a chance. A chance to have my desire, my commitment, my physical integrity challenged, ruthlessly examined and possibly destroyed.

New York City Marathon. November 5, 2006.


Blogger slickaphonic said...


that's hot.

8:28 PM  
Blogger slickaphonic said...

oh, and good omens and luck and stuff to you, too.

10:16 PM  
Blogger Dr. S said...

Yeah! Yeah!

3:46 AM  
Blogger ttractor said...

thanks! this is just the application phase, I still may not get a slot to run. But I am surely in the chute now. I'll keep everyone posted!

12:27 PM  

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