“Majestic” | with edits

The Chelsea Hotel or some dusty apartment? I’m not quite sure, now. The details blur with my half-awake Cohen dreams; some latent memory of warming my naked feet with a space heater, the song‘s images of ill kept transitional spaces, sex on dirty sheets. I’ve been told I’m a dangerous lover. The last victim called me majestic. Now he’s like the others: bitter and abandoned, returning to the lower life of easier conquests. We no longer speak.

I am barefaced and unscathed. I’m not sure if I should feel pride or guilt. Does it matter?

EDIT 02/26/09 5:50AM- but who’s ever really unscathed? these things we say to make ourselves feel better. am i just barricading myself against any subsequent loss? or maybe denial of my own stupidity in believing his lies. you: the one lover that stuck, my best friend, but the one lover it hurts to hurt.

Chelsea Hotel #2 | Starla Bontecou | 2010

Chelsea Hotel #2 | Starla Bontecou | 2010


  1. Cass wrote:

    Should I resist my urge to launch into the tale of the infamous “Woman who has never been dumped”? Apparently she eats her lovers alive after sex, and they accept it exultingly. My bias as an ex-lover turned friend might slant the story a tad, but history is written by the survivors, right? 😉

    I say feel pride. You’ve earned your thick skin, babe.

  2. Adèle wrote:

    PRIDE! You’re a lioness. Anyone would be lucky to be your lunch.

  3. Curran wrote:

    “You thought that it could never happen
    to all the people that you became,
    your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.
    But here, right here,
    between the birthmark and the stain,
    between the ocean and your open vein,
    between the snowman and the rain,
    once again, once again,
    love calls you by your name.”