Snapshots Taken from Animated Conversations (Vox Pop, Brooklyn, New York).

One pomegranate lemonade and a smoke. After showing D the cover of American Hardcore, he rattles off bands, the basics: Reagan Youth, Black Flag, X, Minor Threat. And so on.

The bald forty-something in a black cap.
“Ever seen MacKaye live?”
“Yeah, lots of times. It was great.”
He talks about the times as they were, original and paired with unbridled fury. Reagan was a big part of a small scene; Everyone needs a flesh and bone dartboard.

Apparently, an Alex with ovaries is made of tougher stuff. He says, stick with Allie. It fits. Alex? Not unless you have a crew cut and leather boots.

“If you’re going to come to the city and reinvent yourself, do it right.”

In my sleeping state, my unconscious warns, “there’s nothing left for you in the place you called home.”

Was asked what love means to me yesterday. It’s like you’ve met someone who you feel you’ve known forever. Not like finding something new, but more like finding something that’s been overlooked. Like knowing everything the person is feeling without saying much, and maybe even feeling the same. So, I guess the more direct question is, am I a fan of love, or an evolved form of empathy? Maybe it’s all the same.

Edit: I looked at the last post and thought it was written farther back than five days ago. Days are crawling along like weeks.

Nothing here is that awe inspiring. 

Leaving soon. 

Really soon.

Scared shitless.