“Good morning New York City. It is nearly one in the afternoon and I am three kg heavier than when I first arrived - this is a problem. There’s something incredibly poetic about long and lonesome train journeys and beautiful boys sitting at Union Station with knitting needles and the leftovers from a Subway sandwich. I am going home in a couple of days I feel amazing and pleasantly aimless but I am scared to wander back into safety and sterility and realize that I have become too big too awkward too cultured yet worn down in all the wrong places. I am fearing that sense of displacement that used to grip my insides out on the worst and most unexpected of occasions like miniature tractors blazing across your bubble of contentedness because it needs to be burst we need to go. There is only so much that the world can do for your soul and for your ego. I think that the rest may have to be up to you. I am here in an old and empty apartment with Athlete blasting through the speakers. It is Christmas in barely a week. Run baby run around me. This is what it means to live fast and heal slow. Murakami always knew/knows what to say and here I am struggling to let it out and keep it all in.”
- 18th December, 2010
