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.


There is raspberry jam on the subway stairs.

I am not trying to be judgemental, I'm just trying to find my tribe.

She is taking up two seats with six bags and her wide self. I ask for a space to sit and she moves an enormous handbag over her spread belly. She may be pregnant or just fat. I may be a bitch or just tired.

Cowboy Dave is talking to me as I dig through my backpack. He is not standing too close, but I am uncomfortable because he could see the pair of my underwear surfing to the top as I claw for a pen. Then I realize it doesn't matter any more.

The man in front of me shouts "All I need is a spoon and a paper bag!" as he weaves through the after-work crowd on Fulton Street. I wonder if that is true, if that could really be enough.


Blogger slickaphonic said...


1:54 PM  
Blogger ttractor said...

thanks, darlin'. And how are you? You've gone all quiet over there. I hope that means an abundance of good stuff.

4:16 PM  
Blogger slickaphonic said...

eh, i'm just not feeling bloggy...will write more in a different box.

5:25 PM  
Blogger ttractor said...

Odd, I am finding that the little box is my friend. Internet connection at home is down so if I want to write in the evenings or weekends I have to use a pen and paper. I miss the box, oh my tiny Mormon-esque heart.

5:31 PM  

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