you know I don't believe you

when you say that you don't need me.

---

I sent my first, and last, sext message the other day. It wasn't via cellphone, which was probably the issue, but I have to say it was probably the most exciting, and subsequently humiliating, thing ever. Either way, worth a mention: sleep with the ones who want the fantasy. Noted.

---

this city's a slut, he said, we could never have been my grandparents because we don't live in the mountains. I wonder how much of this is true and why it makes me feel so sad now that I think about it. 

----

I showed up at the retreat with sparkles still caked and encrusted on my cheeks. It was a vain attempt to cold-wash remove the fabulous warpaint, run fingers through to tame sexhair and carry a semblance of professionalism amongst colleagues. Not happening.  

"where did you go last night?" he asked, running his thumb along my cheekbone, "Studio 54?"

may as well have been. Thank god the erotic photographer was too good a host to get into Facebook mode and take pictures. Likely would love to see them, but it might be better that the (cyber) world at large will never witness the sultry, sparkling moments, the many kisses, the anything-goes dance party in the living room, nor my cleavage.

These spinning, fabulous, free-for-all social moments being strung together day to day yield everything. nothing. 

----

the pace of internet is staggering as I play catch-up with Wordpress and ambition. It is sunny, but not quite warm. Spring, but not quite summer. There is something in the air that beckons change, total chaos, and complete reevaluation of "the sour and crippled mass hallucination that is mistakenly called 'reality.'"

I am done school. Done the paper. Done with Maisonneuve. Though everything, these things included, linger just beyond outstretched fingertips amongst fleeting thoughts or ideas; they still define. It's a funny, puzzling place to be on the cusp of it, whatever it will be, however it will change me. 

One of my bests drew me in close enough to tell a secret. In the bar we danced amongst people we had kissed and never spoken to again, holding and darting glances. "Something big is going to happen this summer," she said, her breath on my lobe, "I feel it." She, pretending to be my lover upon request, pursed her red lips in a smirk and had a twinkle in her eye I can assure was the real deal. Something. Something soon. Summer.

---

lawrence