| I,
Gray of New York City, hereby vow to change myself. I will not
be like the disgusting fake humans that surround me in this city
of plastic. I will make sure that every phone call I will make
(or any other form of social interaction I have) will contain afterthoughts
that I would voluntarily share. I will become the first human who
follows reason and logic in my relations with people. I will not
speak insincerely to anyone ever. I will not be manifesting fear
of loneliness through fake words and kisses on cheeks and lips.
I don’t even think this will be a hard change. Maybe this
is not even a vow. It is the only option I see for me to continue
to exist. I would rather be alone than manifest this fear that
results in such awful fakeness. I would rather be dead than fake
like the rest.
6/3/00
I just woke up from a nightmare that is still fresh in my mind.
I am sweaty, cold, and frightened. A beautiful man and his
super model girlfriend are in their TriBeCa loft getting dressed
for a party. Their slim, tanned bodies can be seen as reflections
in the many large mirrors and windows of the loft. Then they
are frantically changing outfits, looking at themselves, and
looking at each other for validation. They are walking the
streets with perfect posture and long steps, holding hands
as if the city pavement were a fashion show runway. A beggar
with an “I’m HIV+, please help” sign looks
up to them and asks for change. His eyes on their bodies make
them feel alive and glamorous. He validates without even trying.
Then, the man stops at a building, confirms that the building
number matches the address he wrote on a note in his pocket,
and opens the door for the girl. They both smile at their beauty
in the lobby mirrors and step into the elevator. The elevator
stops half way between floors. They are so close they can hear
the music from the penthouse party only a floor and a half
away. But they are stuck. Forever. I watch them bang on the
metal elevator
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