I went out twice this weekend after a calm few weeks. I go back to school in a little over a week which feels a bit unbelievable ,mostly because it'll be my last year there.
On Friday I spent time with one of my good friends before going out with Hailo. In these separate conversations, we were telling stories about people suddenly entering our lives bringing an intense, immediate connection. Falling in love (platonically/romantically/however) seems to be happening all around me. It's quite wonderful. What a beautiful way for my summer to wind down - a reminder of what we're all here for; feeling.
LITTLE DEATHS
headaches
the nerve of some people
clicking the "ignore time limit" button on social media apps
LITTLE DELIGHTS
our event is this week!! yay!
wine bars - specifically their wine based cocktails
babies - I love them. I want one.
my mom - it's her birthday on Tuesday and in her honor I'd like to share an edited version of a poem I shared in my newsletter a while ago:
My mother takes up space because
She’s absorbed all my pain like the dried up
sponge in the sink;
a little too hard, dry,
reliable.
My mother’s feet swell because
She stands on Her feet all day teaching
and She loves to take walks through Manhattan.
My mother’s words sting because
She is not used to thank-yous
and Her son inherited his father’s tongue and
Her daughter follows,
fighting the current pulling her toward motherhood.
My mother’s nails grow long because
our Halloween costumes were handmade
and She scratches our backs, instead of eternal itch burning through Hers.
My mother’s skin is rough because
for each blade I touched to my skin
She touched ten to Hers.
My mother’s eyes are dry because
for each tear I cried She cried a million more
Soaking my sorrows, cleaning my mess.
My mother is smooth like Neosporin
and sticky like a bandaid.
Tough like a cast and
hard to open like my bottle of pills.
When I open Her I let as many pour as She’ll allow
and I pick one
and I swallow,
because She will make me feel better
Sometimes I forget to open Her until I'm about to fall asleep
and sometimes I forget to open Her for days.
Once I remember, and I ache to break through
that child-proof lid.
She will make me feel better.
My mother is my mother.
She will always be my favorite sponge
and She will always have swollen feet
and Her words will continue to sting
and Her nails will grow longer
and Her skin remains rough
and Her eyes remain dry.
She is not child-proof like my bottle of pills.
She is simply a child who mothers,
and we are Her children.
All Love, Vic
FROM THE HOT LITERATI UNIVERSE
Join book club - We're reading Paul Takes the form of a Mortal Girl. We're on week two but the audios are recorded so you caan also participate asynchronously
We're having an event in Harlem this Friday - A reading/party/performance art moment. Get tickets here. Use code "JONLITERATI" for a discount. Limited capacity so recommend getting your tickets now.
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ISO ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚ Suggested places in NYC to donate unused beauty products and childrens books
email hi@hotliterati.com if you have an ad you'd like included in a little death/delight
A QUICK NOTE FROM HAILO
I'll share more later, but right now I'm fascinated by the idea of intense, deeply personal recounts of experiences being in the hands of only a few others. There are two pieces in our shop (XO, HAILO #2 and XO, HAILO #3 ) that are recollections of some crazy experiences. I'm mailing out (in print) somewhere between 3-5 of each I think, after playing around with a few numbers. One person will also receive the handwritten original.
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