todos me miran

I woke up this morning, put on some clothes, and went downstairs to the bodega, got some milk to put on my Raisin Brain, to put in my coffee. Coming back to my apartment, I was interrupted by a religious procession. A large group of Spanish-speaking Christians were walking down the sidewalk in front of my building, praying, the two ladies at the lead of this march carrying a giant cross on their backs.

This would mean something in a film, be too much on the director's part, this procession, this cross being carried past me first thing in the morning.

I went to a friend's gallery last night, then went to see some other friends dance for Hey Willpower at Don Hill's. Don Hill's was Don Hill's and I escaped for a while with Bob, sat on a street a block or so away, drank Coors Light out a brown bag and talked about being in love. After the show, I danced to a couple of songs, twee things, it being an indie night, before feeling weird with all these white 19 year olds, that something about the space was so unbearably white to me. I walked up to the L with Bob, singing Bjork songs, mainly "Possibly Maybe," and again continuing the conversation about boys and love.

And over coffee with that new milk I purchased this morning, I listened to Gloria Trevi's "Todos Me Miran" and read about her fucking insane life on the run, running from Mexican authorities for helping to kidnap and enslave teenage girls for her lover. And there were thoughts about her life, thoughts about the Christians doing the stations of the cross at this early hour on a Saturday, thoughts about boys and love and hate, and thoughts about productivity, and about the things on my to do list, both short- and long-term, the things I am going to do with these feelings.