hear. tak e th is and go to sleepmy love.

I thought about his face and the way his pock-marked cheeks framed his laugh lines. I had always examined them when we kissed. My eyes glaring on the flesh covering his. I wondered what he thought of my younger, naked body pressed against him, his thighs- shaking between his arms. That grip. That grip: Intoxicating. Strong. Wrapped around me at the base of a staircase where my knees buckled after a kiss. In this moment (that moment). After (these) thoughts- I hope that you are on your way to becoming famous. Dating the woman you rightfully deserve. You are amazing. But so am I. Let's meet again sometime. I won't tell your band that you wished for them to be over so that you could pursue something new. I'll make that our secret. I like that, sometimes, you were candid with me. I won't tell anyone about how much I thought that you were the one- of one of them.

*I forgot to mention that I'm working on some drunken fictional pieces called "Inner Monologues for Men I've Loved."

undeveloped.

a mouth like a heart
pulsating, blood red, hungry
swollen but empty.

a haiku before some (more) solo beach action.

why i'm here.

taken at a beach in malibu.

I don't feel crazy for this at all.

this is the boulevard.

I decided to make a huge adventure effort to visit a friend in Atwater Village, last night, around 9 P.M. I'd ridden in a car through the town once, and felt rather confident in getting to the general area.



Fairly easy trip. Take the 4 Bus to Sunset Blvd and Park Ave. Take 2nd bus from Glendale Ave and Reservoir Street.

ONE SMALL PROBLEM OCCURS.

When I exit the bus at what I think is Park Ave., I soon learn that the bus has let me off at ECHO Park Ave. This is a little further west than I want to be. I wander along the edge of the pond (??) that is in the middle of Echo Park and encounter cat calls for the first time since arriving in LA. I soon find the 92 bus that I am suppose to board. Upon entering the bus, I try avoid fearing the vato-loco vibe I am getting from the shaved-head Mexicans staring back at me.

Did I just sit in a seat moist from pee?

I walk to the driver to ask about where the next stop in the opposite direction is, fore I have realized that I am going downtown, when I should be heading east. Aware of the area, the driver alerts me that I should get off two stops down, where it is a slightly more well lit.

Shit. There's my opposite-direction ride now. A honk leads to nothing. I cross to the street and wait.

I risk, at the stop along the side of the highway being robbed, or worse. If you own a vagina, you know what I'm getting at. I realize that waiting for an hour in this spot will be just as bad as getting into a car with a stranger. Thankfully a cab comes along. I explain to him that I don't have any money, but am I simply trying to get somewhere slightly less desolate. He drives me to Glendale and Berkeley.

None of this makes sense to you. I know. But it was the equivalent of walking to the J at Gates at 3 a.m. for the first time. Alone. It's just something you'd rather not do.

I give in, I ask for help (again). My friend arrives to usher me to safety in Atwater Village. I realize how much work this city is going to take. I still feel prepared.

overheard in the angels.

In Los Angeles everyone drives. EVERYONE. Except for teenagers and Latinos from Downtown. On a recent trip to Downtown LA, I sat behind two young girls, boarding the bus just after school. With a clear sight-path to one of their cellphones, I witnessed this series of texts:

I've made boys cry and there are boys that are scared of me.

Alright then... when?

Just to let you know I'm an INTERNATIONAL ORANGE BELT IN...

This is when she lowered her phone, almost as though she knew I was peering in on her ridiculous texting frenzy. I think what I was watching was the modern equivalent of "meet me at 3 o'clock." What is this text-fight-prequel?

These are just a few of things I eves-dropped-in-on while I was celebrating my gayhood.

- And then someone tried to kill your brother?!
- you're a horrible horrible person
- No... we're going to be on crystal...
- I fucked the owner of that bar! UGH! What's it called??
- *black guy screams*
"that was really loud."
"That. Was gay pride."
- I don't like blondes. Not my type.
Not even as flings?
Not even as friends.

let me fix my weave.

I had something lined up for you guys, but i didn't finish it.. but to stay in the theme of cover letters- here's one I wrote for a high-end salon in B. Hills.

My name is Atiya Jones and I am highly interested in working with your staff at the Aveda salon in Beverly Hills. I’ve recently moved to West Hollywood from New York City and I am looking for an opportunity to work in a fast paced environment, with creative people- where I can watch magic happen first hand (as we all know LA was born this pretty). My most recent assistant position was with a team of creative consultants at Virtue Worldwide. In addition to my daily tasks of researching clients, administrating a private website project, and transcribing, I was also responsible for managing my supervisor’s schedules (meetings, flights, etc) and in constant direct-communication with our clients. I am very organized, and love keeping track of everyone and thing around me. I have also been a member of the reservation staff at Buddakan NY, one of New York’s most popular restaurants. My employment history includes retail management, serving, hosting, reservations, assistant work, as well as product development; I consider myself a true Jack of Trades. On my watch, no appointment shall be overlooked and no clients greeting without the utmost respect and excitement.

Though I do not have 2 years of salon specific experience, I ask that you consider me as an applicant, as I did not see a single task on your post's-list that I am not capable of. I have attached my resume, highlighting my most recent work history, which also includes my contact information. I greatly look forward to speaking with you about this opportunity.

Thank you for your time.

Best,

Atiya Jones