You probably know what my “wheelhouse” is by now (thanks, beloved boyfriend, for the term.) It includes (but is not limited to) the following: abandoned buildings, hasidic Jews, anything French, obscure or debatable mental illnesses, A&E’s Monday night schadenfraude line-up, little blond female icons in literature who remind me of myself, very small communities (particularly islands), playful works of art, hotel bars, Harold Pinter, black cats, “hotlines,” people who have committed suicide (subcategory: DFW) and impossibly short poems.
A marriage of two loves, then: a very, very short poem found on the blog of Daul Kim, a model who committed suicide at age 20 three years ago and whose blog, I Like to Fork Myself, of course outlives her:
say hi to friday night
we didnt acheive
anything
on friday night.
Neither did I, Daul. Neither did I.
RIP.
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