sleeping with the enemy

Debajo del Mercer había un bolichito, y en ese bolichito pinchaba un pésimo pero trágicamente atractivo DJ con el que estuve obsesionada meses y meses y semanas y semanas, coast to coast LA to Chicago etc. Vamos a escucharlo una vez más y ahí un tano divino logra desviarme de mi blanco primario. Dentro de un par de vodka tonics me doy cuenta de que estoy involucrada en una íntima y placentera charla con un fascista. Uno de verdad. Se trata de la nueva generación: esos bichos perfectamente mimetizados que rechazan el antisemitismo, son cultos y tienen toda la onda. Mi indignado corazón de comunista late más fuerte. Suben las barricadas, vuelan los molotovs retóricos. Me dice: Nunca imaginé que me iba a gustar una chica de izquierda. Le confieso: Nunca pensé que podría gustarme un facho de mierda. El beso es electrizante, el sexo mucho más. Antes de volverse a la patria me deja 1. un moretón en el muslo, para que cuando duela piense en él 2. toda su info y 3. una invitación a pasar el verano en su barco. Me da pena decirlo: lo extrañé.

All Is Fair in Love & War

Under the Mercer was a little club, and in this little club used to spin the heavily tattooed, pretty dismal but hideously attractive DJ I was obsessed with for months and months and weeks and weeks, coast to coast LA to Chicago etc. We go listen to him one more time, and this really hot Italian boy manages to distract me from my primary target. A couple of vodka tonics later I realize I'm deep in pleasurable conversation with a fascist. A real one. This is the new breed of perfectly camouflaged 30something hipsters, who reject anti-semitism and are really well read. My indignant communist heart beats faster. The barricades go up, the rhetorical molotovs fly. He admits: I never thought I could be into a leftist chick. I confess: I never imagined I could like a fucking fascist. Our kiss is electrifying, the sex even more so. Before returning to our fatherland he leaves me 1. a huge bruise on my thigh, so I’ll think of him when it aches 2. all his info and 3. an invitation to spend the summer on his boat. I hate to say this, but I actually missed him.

story for nicollette

A Tale of Architects
(este cuento en español)

Sunday, long night out with Brian. I go pick him up at his restaurant on Prince Street, where I get cornered by an aging bald architect friend of a friend. He bores me to death while trying to touch me every chance he gets. Gross. I’m about to throw my beer in his face when Brian whisks me off to Lotus, where we squeeze into a booth with Patrice and his unpleasant Armani suit and his call girl entourage. He’s a wealthy Haitian who was probably a Tonton Macoute in his former life. He pours us champagne and tells me in his heavy French accent, “You are dangerous…give me your number before you leave.” Some gangster pal of his caresses my bare shoulders too many times. I tell him to back off so he complains to Patrice who scolds me along the lines of “This is my friend so-and-so.” I say that’s fine but he can’t touch me and Patrice gets visibly annoyed. Gross. Brian takes me to Bungalow 8 his members only club where he introduces me to James, a colorless version of another boy I still miss in spite of his pathetically clumsy lies. He gives me some of his low rent blow then invites me to his house. I say “I don’t need to get laid tonight” and he acts all scandalized and I tell him to stop being such a hypocrite. He asks for my number and I give it to him, no idea why.

Monday night, party at the Tribeca Grand. A weird mix of VIP lawyers, designers, hipster politicians, models, stockbrokers and a smattering of rock starlets. Nicollette introduces me to an architect friend of hers who says his boss Rem Koolhaas let him design the new Prada store. I find him zero attractive so I try to put him off with “I’m a Miu Miu girl” but he ends up hooking me with his conversation anyway. He invites me to Sway, where my favorite DJ, Baby Blue, is spinning. This makes me like him a little better so I accept. I’m pretty drunk and I immediately lose myself in the arms of a really hot lipstick lesbian and the architect goes nuts. He tries to break me off from my princess but there’s no way. He has no place left to go but out the door. However he calls Nicollette for my number and starts busting my balls. Finally I agree to let him take me out for the best sushi of the moment, which is at Blue Ribbon. Out of nowhere he asks if I want a boyfriend and tells me he’s looking for a relationship. Due to his silly questions I’m back to not liking him that much, but in the cab for mysterious reasons I kiss him & it turns me on. I agree to go to his apartment where he shows me his paintings, which are pretty damn good. Talent being an aphrodisiac, we end up in the sack. Once he has me pinned under his big heavy body he asks, “Aren’t you afraid of me? You’re very trusting.” I flash on my complicatedly murdered corpse starring in an episode of CSI New York. Get out now, before it’s too late? But no, by this time my brain has stopped functioning. He’s very good in bed. It’s a trap.

On Tuesday James calls, I barely remember him. He invites me for a drink at Balthazar. I agree for want of a better plan and besides, I love that place. James is sitting at the bar with his posse, all slaves at the same literary agency. They ask me stupid questions like “Are you an actress?” I am clearly the object of some hidden plot hatched in their sinister male minds but I don’t give a toss so I dig in to the oysters, which at Balthazar are amazing. “Harlan is on his way, he wants to see you,” says James casually, adding that he introduced us at Bungalow 8. It doesn’t ring a bell. A boy arrives & I'm still clueless, but he is utterly glam: wild black hair, very cool suit. Nick Cave from way back, minus the heroin. He turns out to be an architect. He sits next to me and the posse of agents drops off my radar. Then they disappear for real and Harlan loads me onto his huge shiny black BMW and takes me to Missy Elliott’s birthday party at Lot 61, where he plies me with his super deluxe cocaine. Now we’re talking. We make out passionately in every corner in between long heady discussions about everything under the sun. He asks for my number and I'm glad to give it up. He starts taking me out to fabulous events all over town. The nights we don’t see each other he calls me for long intimate bedtime chats. His strategy and everything about him, impeccable. I start to feel comfortable, wanted and happy. Another trap.

Thank god I gave my number to the chick from Sway. She’s no architect, but she does happen to be the perfect toy.

la belleza es verdad, la verdad belleza

happy love! for ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
for ever panting, and for ever young
a burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

la princesa pisa fuerte...happiness is my cute friend in her high heels
she took my guitar and she began to play
she sang a song to me
stuck right in my brain

rolling stones
women's legs are like compass points circling the globe, giving it grace and balance


california dreaming

extraño a mi piercing

I miss my piercing which I got with Keith on Sunset or was it Hollywood
when we used to be so hard core
he got one in his nipple
said it was like being stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife
but most of all I miss you Keith

sole me da sorpresas

ciertos bares

Uno que ya fue es el Siberia. Para encontrarlo había que bajar las escaleras del subte 1, 9 en la calle 51 en Manhattan y golpear una de esas puertas de metal gris toda rayada de graffiti ilegibles con una ventanita de vidrio espeso y opaco que aparentemente no han sido abiertas en varias décadas. Adentro había un antro oscuro, con un chico de negro y ojos muy pintados atrás de la barra sirviendo tragos letales y baratísimos en vasos de plástico. Sillones de vinilo podrido en los rincones, una máquina de pinball centenaria, un jukebox con todo el mejor punk, rock, y rap y una fauna que era de todo un poco completaban el decorado. En ese bar después del recital de PJ Harvey tuve un repentino, espontáneo y mágico menaje à trois con dos amigos muy queridos y largamente codiciados. Luego el Siberia cerró para abrirse a unas cuadras en versión más grande y sofisticada, perdiendo por supuesto el glamour tan perdidamente trash del original.
esta chiquilina me dio la sensación de algún animalito precioso encontrado de repente en un bosque y que te llena de maravilla

this creature made me feel like I ran into a marvelous little animal in the middle of the woods

quiero que seas feliz/i want you to be happy

ayer otra amiga más me contó que encontró su juguete perfecto…así que solo me queda homenajearla así:

yesterday yet another friend told me she found her perfect all I can do is congratulate her as follows:

same old story
life is so unfair
it’s a burden
we just have to bear
i’m with him and you’re with her
there’s nothing else to do
have to hide my secret love for you

joan jett
I went down to your place baby
on a Saturday night
everyone I knew was there girl
but you were out of sight

Marc Bolan

I guess I like boys in bathrooms too

la vida secreta de las mujeres casadas

Recién en una reunión cuyo objetivo fue la entrega ceremonial de un strap-on a una amiga que quiere regalarle múltiples sensaciones a su nueva amante me enteré de que varias casadas con hijos están teniendo deliciosos romances sáficos on the side. Les conté mi sueño en el que enloquecí cuando sentí que la chica que estaba besando con pasión de adolescente tenía un strap-on debajo de sus jeans y supe con lógica onírica que lo había puesto para mi. Lo que hago en mis sueños mis amigas hacen en la realidad…cosa que no sólo me llenó de una envidia fatal si no también me hizo flashear con la pregunta del hermafrodita en la peli XXY de Lucía Puenzo: ¿y si no quiero elegir?

The Secret Lives of Married Women

Recently at a strap-on bequeathing ceremony for a friend of ours who wants to give her new girltoy a different kind of thrill I found out that various married women with children I know are having delightful Sapphic romances on the side. I told them about the dream in which I got so turned on when I felt the girl I was making out with in adolescent abandon had a strap-on under her jeans and knew that she was wearing it for me. My friends are doing in waking life that which I merely dream about...a fact that not only fills me with envy, but also reminded me of the hermaphrodite in Lucía Puenzo’s movie XXY when s/he asks: What if I don’t want to choose?
She glided into the room like a strip teaser on roller skates. What was left of my soul quivered in joyous excitement.

Entró planeando como una stripper en patines. Lo que quedaba de mi alma tembló de conmoción.


travelin down the highways of my social life (marc bolan)

Qué difícil quedarse en este momento a pesar de lo que contiene: victorias y derrotas, angustia y felicidad

How difficult it is to stay in the moment no matter what it contains: victories and defeats, anxiety and joy

today feels like summer/se viene el verano...

summertime and everything is sweet
walking barefoot to the circle k
on the burning street
summertime and everything's on fire
this town is a drive-by for the
whole inland empire

rickie lee jones
you're living in the past it's a new generation
and I don't give a damn about my bad reputation

joan jett

anthony rocks the roxy

flow it, show it

long as god can grow it

my hair

let it fly in the breeze

and get caught in the trees

Hair, the musical

look out you rock n' rollers

Siguiendo la racha de cambios a la bowie: anoche en la trastienda festejando el n. 40 de la mano, escuchando ciertos temas tan queridos que los tengo grabados en mi adn, luego entusiasmándome con hilda lizarazu y su inteligencia y su fuego y su linda guitarra, volví de repente a boston en los 80 cuando con toda la tribu migrábamos apasionadamente de recital en recital en la camioneta vw de mi novio de pelo salvaje y hermosa boca estilo mick jagger, leíamos nuestras poesías tomando budweisers a un dólar en el rathskeller donde famosamente tocaron los police cuando todavía eran desconocidos, escuchábamos a violent femmes, pixies, stranglers, throwing muses, los amigos armaban bandas en continuación, y el objetivo de una noche de joda era buscar bares lo más excéntricos posible en barrios muy fuera de mano para luego guardar el secreto lo más tiempo posible. Se venían desde muy lejos la electrónica y la éxtasis pero el rocanrol seguía siendo nuestra manera de vivir, tan como los desayunos de café asqueroso y muchos cigarrillos en el diner de la esquina, los partidos de pool los domingos a la tarde cuando afuera nos cagábamos de frío y ese estado de enamoramiento perpetuo hecho de curiosidad y de urgencia tan dulce y angustiante a la vez, ojalá no me lo olvide nunca.

Last night at a party for a local rock n’ roll magazine listening to certain tracks so beloved they’ve become a part of my dna then watching this chick hilda lizarazu on stage with her intelligence & her fire & her pretty guitar, suddenly I was back in boston in the 80s when we would all load into my boyfriend’s beat-up vw van & migrate passionately from concert to concert, listen to andy & jay reading their poetry in the rat drinking dollar buds to our soundtrack of violent femmes, stranglers, pixies, throwing muses, everyone & their uncle in a band or about to be, and the objective of a night out was scouting out the most eccentric new dive in some far-flung neighborhood no one else had thought of and then keeping the secret as long as possible. Electronica & ecstacy were wending their way from across the pond but rock n’ roll was still our way of life, as much as plotting our next expedition over cheap coffee & many cigarettes at the greek corner diner, sunday afternoon pool games in the basement of don’s bar and that state of being endlessly, curiously, lustfully in love, which I hope to god I never forget.

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence

David Bowie