Goodbye.

It would only be fair to tell you this in person.

Only I can't.

I'm breaking up with you blogger.

www.lonelyny.tumblr.com

Hope to see you on the otherside, friends.

Welcome Home.

"Welcome home outcast, because I know how you have felt over the years."

: ) It's so refreshing.

It's so fresh pair of socks.

It's so ... familiar.

To just accept it all.

To stare teary-eyed into the future and the past, smile and dreamily say,
"Fuck it."

You know it's too much. And you'll never be ready. And you'll fuck up.
Just like you did that one time.
And that other.
And that other.

But in the end. You'll go down grinning. And know you tried. And you tried fuckin' hard.
And that no matter what anyone says. Or does. Or who they are. Or will be.

You tried.

"The truth is that looking at me is like looking in a mirror."

Because I remember. All the pain I had. And all the pressure. And the awful, Awful unhappy people.
And yet.

I'm still here. Sober, Alone and Rambling.

"On rendered notes of parchment, I'm scrawling my existence.
Dressed in white. This candle radiates throughout the night.
Forever burning bright."

This is... for me... One of the only, truly empowering note on here.

"Hold your head high, heavy heart."

Because.

I hope you can look at what you're doing with your life.
Look at the people in it.
And know.

You've never been so goddamn ready to make a mistake.

Early Afternoon

"When I wake up, I'm willing to take my chances on the hope I
forget that you hate him more than you know,
Yes, I wrote this for you."

I've been waking up way too late or early these days.

I don't sleep the way I used to.

Restless and torn.

And it seems. I can't make it a day without a drink.
Is this what it means to be an adult?
An alcoholic?
A real fucking person?

This blog makes me feel like a neglectful father.

"Someday I'll appreciate in value, get off my ass and call you...
but for the meantime I'll sport my brand new passion for waking
up with pants on at 4:00 in the afternoon."

I feel New York pulse through me in a way I never have.
Not then. Not when I wrote. Every week.
Not when I was truly loved by a girl.
Not when I could tell people what I do and
Watch them sheepishly smile?

I won't lie. I didn't think I'd write in this again.
Thought I'd let it die here. Let all of this burn like cigarette ash.
Flick it into the tray made of all the things I mean but I never say.

But,

I heard this recently.

"The point of life is that it Ends."

Touche, Franz Kafka. Touche.

"Who do you carry that torch for, my young man?
Do you believe in anything?
Do you carry it around just to burn things down?"

I get it now though. I do believe.

I carry it for K. I carry it for A. I carry it for R.
I carry it for N. from NYC.

Thank you, Kafka. For the whiskey and conversation.

I leave you with this from R,

"I feel very strongly, N, That we need to be here right now. Living together.
Doing what we are doing. And I'm glad we are. And I'm glad to be here with you.
And I want to be better. So tell me when I can be. I expect that of you."

Loose Change

If you can make it here. You can make it anywhere.

It's come to the break point. My time in NYC hinges on whether or not chance befalls me. To cater to the wills of the affluent and continue my meager lifestyle or to go home?

Did the big bad city chew me up and spit me out?

NfromNYC June 2008 - ? (Now?)

I remember when my notes held love and passion and promise.

"Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up."

A. I miss you. I won't give up till you know how I feel.

Just after I wrote that last blog. I broke down. I guess I wasn't as at peace as I thought.

Does everyone look back and wish they'd done their day differently? Just the little things. Been a little slicker. Talked a little slower. Smiled a bit more.

Hugged just a bit longer.

"The only thing that matters is just following your heart and eventually you'll finally get it right."

If I left here. Would anyone feel it? Would my words and actions resonate in peoples minds and bones?

This blog is my unopenned letter to the world.

World, I love you. Just sometimes, I wish you made more sense.

"Discordant words at best... Confusing and uninteresting... A real let down." - An excert from my review of this blog.

-N

Pulse Normal

It's been over a month since Last I wrote.

It's been over 2 weeks since my sister killed herself.

I no longer hear music in my life.

I no longer see Manhattan's youth drapped in deep reds and vibrant violets.
It all seems dulled.

Its hard to hear the melody in my words.

All but the last few "Why?"s have left me. And now I feel left with a hole that, I suppose, I will come to accept.

I woke up early today and got dressed. I walked through the cold rain for 15 blocks. It was humbling. And comforting. And fitting.

I've lost all sense of where to go from here. Where do I go from here?

We all remember a simpler time. An easier time. A happier time. But it's been so long since then. This is the first day in a long time, when I can stay inside and feel selfish. I sit on this fire escape and want to cry. Because I haven't since I came back to NYC.

This paragraph is for K.

I did write you a letter. A long time ago. And then It stayed in my pocket for weeks. Then a jealous girl ripped it up. And I yelled. For the first time in a long time. I yelled. I think about needing to finish something new for you. And I will.

So for you, and the others who've gotten a note. Or written about this blog online. I write today. For me too. Don't let me seem that selfless. 3 notes. And 1 for K.

"Who do you carry the torch for my young man? Do you believe in anything?"

- N

Welcome to the New Year

Tomorrow I move into my new apartment. All this time in between made me realize, It's really important to have your own space. I couldn't write. I couldn't be alone. Listen to music just for me.

"I'm not smiling behind this fake veneer."

Sometimes I wonder why I came here.

Sometimes I wonder why I leave my house.

This whole wide world isn't as bad as my pictures I paint. But it's real easy to look out on it with scorn. And not to be mad. Or sad. But just to expect more of it.

"I am often. Interrupted or completely ingored. But most of all, I'm bored."

I see people I've known and lived with for months now, change because a situation does. It's hard to see people not give a shit on a daily basis.

"I'd rather be home feeling violent and lonely."

On bad days I want to cry. I want to scream at them all about... Everything. Why they are wrong. Why the should listen to me. But I don't. And such is status quo.

"I'm not trying to sound so insincere. But the postcard, taped to the freezer says wish you were here. Oh how I wish I could disappear."

Sometimes, on good days, I want to walk out. Buy my ticket out. And you know. Jump.

Would I be happier somewhere else?

I dont know.

Is it just a change of scenery I need?

Maybe.

"I wanna thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marrigolds."

I hope this change with this move. I hope things will be better. I hope. I do.

"This must be it. Welcome to the New Year."

Fire Gazing

So I've been reconnecting. In a way. Also, disconnecting.

Caring less about things that seem trivial. Things I've come to hold important.

And old friends. Well... They're old friends for a reason.

"Don't Analyze me. There's no apparent link between the day he said he'd leave and my..."

So I sat there. Around a fire. And burnt a lot away. Surrounded by people who mean a lot to me. People who know me... Well... Better than I'd like. I sipped a guiness. I soaked in the summer stars and the smell of dry wood ashing.

"...Reoccurring dreams and how I just can't sleep unless I've had a drink... Or five."

So now. Like it or not. I need it again. I'm going back tonight. Sober? Sober. But I need my fix of happiness and peace. Because it's hard to come by here.

So he said to me, "New York City is your life style. But not your persona."

He may be right. I may be a bad fit here. In the long run.

I feel bad for not writing enough this month, even as I enjoy it so. But it's hard to sit down and write. Especially for me if someone is here. Also, I've been moving. I know it sounds like rationalizing and excuses. But, I feel guilty, and It'll change. I promise. Don't give up.

Do you belong where you are?

It's okay to not. It's okay to be wrong.

And it sure seems like I am. But. I. Unlike a lot of them. Am not afraid of change.

- N