midnight in paris

The minute I knew he was going to leave, it changed everything. Where I had at first thought longingly of being awake and alone in the apartment, I had suddenly turned attached to the arm of his jacket. These are hard shoes to walk in. Elephant shoes. Now I am on the porch and alone, the neighbor I saw in the kitchen is gone. There is only the lingering chirp of the late night college students two floors above. And I must be talking to the bannister.

MFA/1136380/3173268

fran lebowitz

This is racism pure and simple. It is not hard to figure this out, and we now live in an environment where it is worse to call someone a racist than it is to be one.

excerpt fran lebowitz interview

The war era?
Right. Every English person that age, always the first thing they tell you is they talk about rationing and what they’re talking about is rationing of candy because they were children. This never leaves them. You would think they were survivors of Auschwitz, you know? "We only got this much candy ever!" I love Nick Tosches as a writer. I think he’s a fantastic writer and he would always be a great choice, I think, but he’s not English so maybe it’s better to have an English person.

Are you still playing drums?

the day i meet fran leibowitz

fran leibowitz said to me, "you're young, you'll come up with someone better" to qualify, i said "it cant be too important" and she said to me "thats why its dangerous...its better to say "they evaporated off the face of the earth". it was something cliff peacock would say. Or Nick Nolte in the short film in New York Stories which is not directed by Woody Allen, but by somebody else. Fran says she has never met Woody Allen...she says "you think thats an accident? She has the kindest saddest eyes, such a dark blue. She is smaller, as we all are, in real life. A friend once told me I was smaller in real life. And he'd only ever seen me in real life. Is it no accident the hardest thing in the world for us to do is sit in one place and not eat or drink or read or speak?

bridge

ill be his dinner if he feeds me/ill be his future if he reads me/ ill be his blanket if he needs me/ ill be his rainy sunday evening/ ill be waiting in the dark / for him/ and singing in the park for him/ and watching all my swear words/ and pulling all his zipcords/ and cleaning his canary cage/ and making our bed

i want me a terry cloth man,
ill be the towel rack he lays upon,
he'll be my little toothbrush
i'll be the toothpaste to put it on

i want me a man whos got a voice like in the movies
hell be my lonesome rider,ill be
the sound of runnin hoofbeats

i want me a man who wakes up just like the sun does
who breathes just like the wind does
and then he settles into dust

i want me a man made a calamine lotion
i'll find him in the ocean
all wrapped up in the sea weed

i want me a man who speaks up when hes sleeping
and knows about the real thing
and never asks the time

i want me a man whos shape is something like a frisbee
who died in san fransisco
and rose again in rome

i want me a man tethered to my ankle
who doees impressions of my uncle
and laughs just like a crow

i want me a man made of sticky note scrawls
who never ever callsme
he just talks into my t.v.

i want me a terry cloth man
ill be the towel rack he lays upon
i'll be the reason when hes gone
i'll be the reason when hes gone