Hassidic Pleasure Model Six Foot Seven, Choir at Eleven FEB 1

New York early morning light brisk fall tail feathers touching Central Park ~ My mate of many woundings had become unpleasable so I turned to my second favorite hobby (at the time, you can stop hissing now) Pleasing myself ~ I followed the taste of Ledgend and came to a place of food A New York bagle shop ~ I shuffle in trailing a cloud of girlfriend I am a quivering cat in this cramped little food slot in this city that I know I know they understand water ~ As I peer into the glass feeling my way sloth like through the salt the poppy the wait what is happening ~ I turn sensing power Darkness and buttons My vision climbs the mountain before me Standing too close pressing me into the cul de sac of the window display separating me from the heard pressing me into the cul de sac of my fragile sexuality ~ And a berd of incredible porportions and that radiating power from a gigantinc Hasidic Jew looking straight through me ~ I am not a tall person in the land of milk and honey but my vast flag of an ego rarely deigns to notice this ~ Not so now He loomed with a vibrating hostile energy As he spoke words of containment and open territorial threats and a true welcome stanger My mind wrestled and lost twelve quick fights As the shock of an ungentle holy man spoke to me in person I don’t know what to say man As my mind struggled to mashall my language center the feeling of wanting a forbidden thing washed over me I am Rumi now, ahhh ~ To this day I wonder if not for my stuttering linguistic incapacity (in all such cases) at how close my life came to the path of the path of the New York The Path of the New York, Hassidic Pleasure Model