life is like a music video

is what i'm thinking when i'm walking towards time square at midnight in a field of a thousand hasidic jews (no embellishment, they just got out of a big conference, and we just got out of koreatown.)

new york...

this city is made out of words and colors, no need for microphones. we got nerves taut so tight you can thump bass lines off our skin, it’s def poetry jam, and mos def sounds like a cup of black coffee (he’ll wake you with the sip of a syllable), beau sia, rafael, denizen kane come strong, but jimmy tran kills the crowd, ends eve ensler, lays kanye west to rest, dislodges 77 bullets chambers into the audience outta his magnum heart and buries us with some posthumous love poems.

"this planet is made out of matter, but this world is made out of words." - sekou sundiata

i like how fragile i feel here – i am forged by new sentences and torn down by new syllables every moment. i leave a piece of myself on each street corner, with each step, a molecule slips out of my skin and leaves me for a 212 area code (and, shucks, they didn’t even leave a forwarding address.) if you see my dandruff selling nuts in soho tell him to write me more often.

i like snow – how it makes a seafloor out of every street, snowflakes are goldfish, and this city is an aquarium, like we’re just floating, falling in love with blurs of color but never solid things... and me, i want to cut open the sky and pour – all this that makes the world blue – into everywhere and nowhere at all.