75 and Sunny

It’s 75 degrees today. Hot almost. Maybe hotter walking down the street with my brother. Me wearing black pants and my poet boots and a newly used jacket I bought yesterday at Buffalo Exchange in Belmont Shore.
We got a late lunch of real tacos. Tacos I haven’t eaten in years. Not Tex-mex or Eastern excuses for tacos, but real tacos with corn tortillas, highly seasoned chicken, avocado fresh and green, home made salsa, good salsa, pico, beans, mexican rice. It all sounds so normal when I list it here and it’s normal for the people who live here, god I wish it was normal for where I lived. And a Mexican coca-cola with that real sweet sugar.

I’m not sure where I stand with writing lately. I’ll come back to it when I get home I suppose. I’ve been feeling terribly insecure with it the past two weeks. When you take a week off you feel like you aren’t doing what you should be doing, that you need to be doing more, that your life as an artist isn’t a life as an artist at all – and that it won’t ever be.

I’m supposed to be writing down what I think I need/seek from other people. Being here, back in the midst of things, of old things, makes me see maybe what it is I really do seek in other people. What I don’t like. What I’m not ready to deal with. It’s uncomfortable and I’m exhausted by it all. And I’m supposed to be on vacation and so today I’m hanging out with my brother and going out with him tonight and sitting in the sun with a tank top on digesting my sweet coke and real deal mexican food and trying not to worry so much about what I was, what I am, what I want (us) to be, what I know we are.

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