toast & coffee

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee
Late morning sun through pale curtains
butterflies
many butterflies
And the intense desire for you to hold my hand

[w4m, Macondo Cafe, Friedrichshain, Berlin]

I have the intense desire to roll my eyes really hard and make finger-in-throat gagging gestures, but that’s because I’m not romantic and also because I dislike pale curtains and butterflies. Combine them all and this is literary ipecac syrup.

I can tell that this poet has Laura Ashley wallpaper in her home. All over her home.

Tags: Berlin, Friedrichshain, poetic poetry

French-speaking coffee drinker

We were sharing a front-window counter at an east East Village coffeeshop, early Wednesday evening. You had a phone conversation in French upon which–for better or worse–I couldn’t eavesdrop. All the while I was typing away, not quite furiously, at a series of emails that concluded with an unfinished draft of a letter to a minor celebrity who has no idea who I am. In that last epistle (in its current state) I used the word “oeuvre”. I save it for letters because I’m not confident in my pronunciation. I had the seat by the door and when you left I looked up and you, straddling the threshold, looked back and we smiled at each other, however briefly, before you continued on into the night. I believe that’s what the kids call a missed connection. Could I go back in time, my smile would have been more arresting, and I would have gracefully followed you outside and said, “Excuse me, mademoiselle, but you’ve forgotten” (here I’d pause ever so slightly and offer a hint of a smile even more arresting) “to ask me for my phone number.” Oh, and since this is my fantasy, I’d say this all in French with an accent that is just shy of impeccable, mildly academic and indicative–to a sensitive ear–of a speaker with origins in Chicago but who has seen a bit of the world and has a knack for foreign tongues. Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts! 

[m4w, East Village]

Is it a requirement to learn French or be a Francophile that you must also be an insufferable asshole? Additionally, why is he admitting that he spends his evenings in coffee shops writing an “epistle” (SERIOUS) to a minor celebrity that he doesn’t know? That sounds more like the kind of note that should be written with mismatched letters cut from magazines, not on a laptop in public. Do you think it’s written to Raven-Symoné? I bet it’s to Raven-Symoné. Her name is sufficiently Frenchified.

It goes without saying but no matter how arresting the smile (I have my doubts already) that pickup line is abominable, be it said in French, English, or any other tongue one might attempt to spit it out in. Back to the drawing board on everything, guy.

Tags: East Village, There's a place in France

Lost knickers?

I’d like to thank the sized 12 girl with the sexy little knickers who dropped them outside the gym on Clapham High Street tonight.

My best find ever, hope you don’t mind me hanging on to them. 

[m4w, Clapham]

Do you think when he saw them on the ground, he just went for it and grabbed them quickly, or did he look around suspiciously before trying to get at them casually without attracting attention? Like by putting his hands in his pockets and whistling the Marseillaise while rolling his eyes upwards and sliding the underwear away under his shoe? Had they been stepped on already? Was that part of the appeal? More importantly, why didn’t he specify whether they were worn or not? Because you know determining that was his first order of business and DEFINITELY part of the appeal. Why would someone leave the gym sans underwear if they arrived there wearing it?

I hate when a Missed Connection leaves me feeling like a frustrated detective with a notebook full of questions and no answers. Nancy Drew and the Case of the Nicked Knickers. Or the Pilfered Panties? The Thieved Thong? The Usurped Underwear? The Snitched Shorts? 

Tags: Clapham, Did you touch that, London, Underwear

Sie sagen, Ich mag Maus Blick/You said I looked like a mouse

You didn’t speak english I didn’t speak german. I left without saying goodbye and now I am not happy. You are a blond german boy… Find me. 

[w4m, Kater Holzig Club, Kreuzberg, Berlin] 

Well now I am not happy. Just kidding – perfect, this is all perfect. It makes almost too much sense to try to find someone who thinks you look like a rodent and who you don’t share a mutual language with. Carry on.

Tags: Berlin, Kreuzberg

Dunwell Dougnuts

I was sitting in Dunwell yesterday when you walked in with your friend. I was sitting on the bench working on my laptop and drinking a bunch of coffee. I have red hair, brown eyes, and was wearing a red skirt. You got your order to go so I didn’t have a chance to try to make awkward conversation. 

[w4m, Montrose Avenue, East Williamsburg]

I think misspelling it “Dougnuts” in the title fulfills the awkward quota for this encounter.

Tags: Brooklyn, CAKE and lollies and cookies, East Williamsburg

12 Januar

Hello
I know it´s a long time since we saw each other, but I think very often about you, and maybe we can meet.
We saw each other Thursday, January 12 around 6 PM at Ohlauer Str. You were walking a dog.
We had the same way from Ohlauer to Bürknerstr., stopped Bürknerstr. looking in each others eyes, but nobody says something.
So we continue walking, stopped at the red traffic light at Kottbusser Damm, crossed it, walked in to Schönleinstr. and it seemed like both of us wanted to say something, but what??
You continued to Urbanstr, i went to the right to Dieffenbachstr turned my head, saw you fading away, unable to do anything
I would be happy if you read this write me and we can meet agian
Thank You

[m4w, Kreuzberg]

Do you need a map of Kreuzberg? Because  after reading this I can make you one.

Tags: Berlin, Kreuzberg

Stunned at Shake Shack on Saturday

Shake Shack on 86th,,Saturday afternoon.
Tall, blonde, blue eyes sharing a meal with a girl friend in a plaid coat.
No human should have eyes as blue as yours–they are the eyes I want my kids to have.
I was paralyzed by propriety and stunned by your beauty so I did nothing by smile and plan our future together. (I was in the black coat with the red scarf my mother knit and the fantastic smile my grandfather passed down to me).
Then you left.
Stay cute and cool and call me over the summer!

[m4w, Upper East Side]

In addition to his gift for alliteration, he’s quite poetic. I can’t resist the urge to haiku it.

No human can have
eyes so blue.  Just husky dogs.
Give my kids your genes.

I was paralyzed
Proprietarily so.
Stunned, over burgers.

Planning our future:
I’m doing it. Don’t like that?
Then don’t be so hot.

So good for him and his grandfather’s smile and his mom’s scarf (all the family connections he mentions are weirding me out). Personally I don’t like any talk of genetics with my burgers and milkshakes but if that’s where his mind goes, fair (and gross) enough.

Tags: Manhattan, poetic poetry, Upper East Side

Clandestinely selling books, on the way to Angola

You approached me with a bag of Latino Studies texts while I read in Union Square park. You were peddling them at $5 a piece.

You are beautiful and are moving to Angola. You seemed stressed about getting rid of
Your books but preparing for a life in Angola seems far more daunting. But that is neither here nor there.

Would a drink with a stranger calm your nerves? 

[m4w, Union Square]

I also had to sell many of my belongings to move to a foreign country, and as such I can confidently say that the best way to go about it is not to approach strangers in a park with esoteric college textbooks. Not that you shouldn’t try to hock SOME of your possessions to strangers in a park, but not the Latino Studies texts. The park is an appropriate venue for your couch cushions, MAYBE some Ikea dishes. You have to wait around outside of NYU during the first week of the semester with books. Why would someone prowl the park with them, especially “clandestinely” like it’s a backpack full of crack or something?

And is it really worth it for Angola? I mean, do what you dream, but Angola?

Tags: I Like Your PhD, Manhattan, Union Square

Struggle With the Downtown N Door

We managed to get on to the N going downtown from Union Square by fighting the doors open together. It was a mighty struggle. You sat down next to me and we exchanged pleasantries. I wished I would have talked you up and I would have, but I was so tired. (Not much better than a zombie.) You seemed like a charm. I hope you’ll forgive me my unfortunate brain freeze. I was in a pea coat and had on blue slacks with dress shoes. You were so stylish and elegant. I hope you’ll give me another chance. 

[m4w, Union Square]

These monsters deserve each other. I HATE when people go Hulk on the subway doors. You should realize that what you’re doing is wrong when you have to fight something open like you’re using the Jaws of Life. So because you didn’t want to wait three minutes for the next train, you make everyone else wait by waging your own personal Herculean war on the doors. There’s nothing more satisfying than someone trying that and losing, and everyone inside the car smirks happily as it pulls away. But when they do succeed it’s also kind of nice because everyone gangs up on them by giving them the dirtiest looks faces are capable of making. It’s a beautiful example of people coming together.

Tags: Manhattan, Union Square

Murphy’s Law Cougar

You were at Murphy’s Law about a week ago celebrating your friend’s birthday. I was the guy making you laugh as my friend dance battled your friend. Your friend kept telling you that you’d “go to jail” if you made a pass at me. You said you had ___ kid(s). I said I wanted to be a ___. 

[m4w, Upper East Side]

Allow me to fill in those blanks. You said you had a place on the sex offender registry as your friend correctly indicated for making passes at kid(s). I said I wanted to be a well-fed (generously paid) kept cougar cub. Easy peasy!

Tags: Girl you nasty, Manhattan, Upper East Side