the blog

one swimsuit bottom

I left New York with two swimsuit tops
and one swimsuit bottom
but lost the bottom some weeks ago
in a sexy encounter
with an Italian dancer
in a German spa
and I realize now
finally
on this French beach
that what I bought in Brussels to replace it
when later I realized it was gone
is in fact a men’s swimsuit
so now I have a place to keep my penis.

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someting squiggly and marine

In the same bar that la patrona of my casa rural brought me to last week, killing time before my blablacar to Barcelona, I have ordered some kind of open-faced mini-sandwich featuring something squiggly and, to my eye, marine.
Pescado, said the barman to my quizzicality, but I bet it’s not actually, not taxonomically.
Everyone is starting to look familiar to me, moving so quickly from place to place as I am.

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Proof of life?

He said, Proof of life? and I sent him a photo of some Spanish booze and said, I took this for you ~a week ago, then decided that it wasnʼt really rich enough in esoterica to actually send.
Also there is a hot hot cab strike here.
So I am playing ukulele for some Pakistanis who, like me, don’t have anything to do.

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