It is cold out and the snow is brushing along the streets gently pressed along by the wind. I love how quite the corner is. i hear only some loose metal singing slowly swaying back and forth. This is a novelty here where typically you hear music born not of new york city streets but of Caribbean islands and cars honking and reeving.
It is also dark in my apartment and it is a rare moment when everyone has already fallen asleep.
It is so warm in here the window is cracked and the smell of snow is wafting across my bare red and steamy shoulders. I should be more concerned about the tips of my hair freezing.
I suppose I should mention the new year. I want to tie my tongue in knots and roll my eye balls backwards and twist my fingers into painful contortions because never have i ever dreaded such a new years task as this.
I am miserable because my tone has swam away from me and control meandered for a walk. I have always been lost so to pretend this is something new would be disingenuous, but I have always had an excuse to be doing what had presently presented itself. For the first time I am not sure if anything monumental has changed except I have learned more of how things are made in factories by many strange hands. I am the opposite of an artist. the multitude of people touching.