Memory flashback. New York City, Summer 2011. Spent a lot of time at Caffe Reggio in the Village, writing strange hallucinations with art thoughts. Notebook ramblings on Eugene Delacroix’s The Death of Sardanapalus. Strangled silk indulgence…pleading pleasure bleeding…one last orgy before I go…Perhaps I should have listened to the traveler’s tale. Words of wisdom are hard to tell. Deciphering sand grains in the desert, the multitudes were gone. Vanquished. Their blood and my skin, haunting whispers, devil wind. I rode back to the palace side, to desecrate my defeated bride. Spirits were high and plenty of drink-soaked salacious souls. Women danced victory with twirling chants of gold. The musicians played. But then leather riders came, preaching of an enemy still untamed. And I, being drunk, the one to blame, felt to ruin this party would be a shame. So I yelled for servants to bring a flame. Ignite this fame! Immortality shall be gained! Death-games for terror’s shouts! Shrieking silence blotted out. Petty protoplasm priestly purified, though not denied, shall see pleasure sanctified…

Then I’d walk back to my shared studio apartment in the  Flatiron district.