Noose and Hook

Dear Diary, here in New York City

42 Dear Diary, here in New York City, the snow descends. The days go on forever. Hash made my mind from my fingertips stream out. My brain was tapped, under surveillance by the eyes of the traffic lights jewelling the foreheads of the avenues. Inside my red dress I was a sunset. I lingered and blinked in the gold windows of NEW WORLD FETISH at the nun in her rubber habit. I tried on her wimple of lurid beauty and it fit. Then suddenly back in the cold I was stolen upon by the voice of the unemployed actor who was walking me home to my small room, bruised floorboards, more (blonde) hash, lurk of heat from the snickering serpentine radiator and I drank six inches of black Barolo until I didn’t have to think about the hyper-privileged and under-subverted, until I was too buzzed to be devoured by these cannibalistic times, until I became a blizzard of nothingness. Undulant dust. emmanuel noose i-62.indd 42 1/4/10 4:32 PM ...