Nearly There

flea market day

more from the collection

ESOTERIC DUMPSTER VOL. 1 ISSUE # 2: SECOND SNOW

This week, I am going on a school trip to New York City. It will be my second time on a plane in my life and my second time seeing snow since West Virginia. It will also be the longest time I have spent away from home, and the farthest, save for the hot and hellish California trip of sophomore year.

My half-sister was getting married then, and already I have four nephews between her and my other two half-siblings. I remember being in line for the bathroom at the warmly lit and wine-fueled reception, standing with the groom while my sister was in the bathroom. I asked what was in his vape and he said "Tobacco." and offered me a hit. I had never taken anything before, mild or hard. In that moment, I grew up.

I was one of the big kids, a peer, and it felt good. The dry heat felt good. Leaning against a table, talking about the closet with a new cousin who emerged from the woodwork felt good. For a few minutes, everything felt good. My sister turned The Smiths on for me and made me dance. I was awkward, but it felt good.

I am constantly hit hard in the face by the fact that I will never be like them, my half-siblings. Never as old, never as straight. Eyes not dark enough. Haven't been hurt enough. They had it harder than I did growing up, and I am grateful that they tamed my father before I had to be alive under his roof.

They lived first so I didn't have to wonder whether I would flounder and drown in my adulthood because everyone does. I remember, when I observe their lives that success is simply happiness. They are very successful now.

Jumping forward in my Time-Traveling Dumpster to the present day, I am nervous for the trip. Anxious that my friends will see me tear up in front of Caravaggio's "Musicians" or when I see my dad in Central Park for a moment, and he asks me what he did wrong, and tells me that he loves me, even though my art teacher knows more of my life than he ever did.

A friend told me recently that getting over people is forgiveness. His mother left his family and died two years later in a car crash on a stretched Nevada highway. He seemed genuine, but he could have just been high.

I don't have much else to say, so here are some recent photos of the town, with more from New York en route to my digital camera come Thursday.

Until then!

SONGS: “Girl” by the queen of lyricism Tori Amos

and “Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)” covered by creep geniuses The Doors

“And those thrilling highs and southern nights were always out of reach”

i was fixin to fail a breathalyzer test when i wrote this

pictures from the south

new york city/newark airport landscapes

“And in the blink of an eye

I’ll watch these golden years fly by”

“I think I hear the whisper of my own best friend

I think I hear the bells ringing in the square”

church xing