Alive in New York City. I walk through the streets everyday. These streets that I own. All of the cities and spaces. They’re mine. The whole world is mine because I’m a child of God. The way they look through the increasing vision of an awakening child. It’s like magic.
I’m so broken but…
I love that I get to be in this city.
I’m so blessed.
Even though life in this city sometimes feels impossible. Sometimes I feel that it cannot contain me. That there’s no space for me anywhere. The pressure makes me question my very existence. Why…?
I need to go to therapy. Which doesn’t bother me at all because I’m a Los Angeles-bohemian-gypsy-queen so of course I should be in therapy..
And sometimes I wonder if I should finally just move to LA. I love it there. Los Angeles reflects a certain part of my soul that no other place understands. But I know this desire to suddenly, violently move away from everything… It’s just my ongoing tendency to run away from myself. Which never works. And I come back again and again to the wisdom of Gregory in the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s: “Everywhere you go, you just keep running into yourself.” (Et oui I read the book but if Truman wrote this line it was less memorable...) And how can I ever go so far away from Paris. New York is the perfect place. The greatest city in the world. Of course New Yorkers love saying that, but it’s true. I believe it completely.
So no, I’m not going to go to Los Angeles.
And yes, I am going to let my art be raw and a complete mess when it needs to be. Words like one giant splatter of paint. It’s better than holding back for a lifetime.
I’m good, thank you.