It feels so good to feel human again. I'm finally in Spain. It's been three years in the making and I'm finally here. After a red eye flight - during which I did sleep, but might as well have been doing jumping jacks the whole time for all the rest I felt from it - I made it into Madrid bleary eyed and brain dead. What little Spanish I do know remained drowned in the empty wine glasses left astrewn in the new york hotels.
What a trip New York was. Ritzy hotels, rooftop patios, bottle service., I have never been treated so good. I had Alecia Key's "new york" on repeat in my head the entire time. I don't think I saw a single morning without the hazey fog of the remnants of a drunken night dewing my eyes. I was treated to dinner, drinks, passion and fury. It was chaos and hedonism, Anarchy of pleasure. New york - business class.
After the intense hustle and bustle of those crowded streets, I welcome the relative calm of Spainish Madrid. There is a quiet lingering hush whispering in my ears from the absence of the car horn music. I already feel a calm spreading through my nerves, a slow tidal movement. It is why I love Spain. There is magic here, I swear. An instant feeling of home. Of welcome. It's such a complete contradiction from the cacaphonous frenzy of NY.
I feel beautiful here. I can't wait for morning.
-Madrid, Spain. 10pm - 04.20.11
Horn melody. Cacaphony of metropolitan music. Jazz in the streets as we dance - glare - laugh - ..move.. Sway in time to the rhythm of the city. The lights strobe us into action. We glitter as the diamonds that bring life to this. The soul and truth of vitality in detonation. Reviving and surviving. Returning and learning. Lost in the swirling. I pulse my fingers to this percussion, slowing down the night. It is a good night, for this. Hedonism sings a siren lullaby and I am entranced by the fantasy. The alternate reality. For the moment, I am New York.
NY, 04.17.11
I seem to attract those that can't love but for a night. A moment in their history. I am their exotic release from reality. My eyelashes stray to the side, glassy eyed. Doll faced in this empty place. I am not your toy. Do not play with me.
NY, 04.11
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