26.08.05 - 1:40 p.m.

when i opened mikey's book to see the title page, his full name and a publishing company, i hugged him so tightly and felt his hair, felt for the part of his hair that was lost in a bathroom in brooklyn, left in the sink in true mikey fashion not out of laziness but in the hopes that someone would find it and keep it, the hair of a stranger, because he would do that. i put my hands on both sides of his head and stood on my toes to kiss his temple and when i looked at him i didn't see the boy who, when i first met him, listed his favorite bands as the damned, pg 99 and black flag. i didn't see his tattoos and remnants of facepaint from a month of shows and a sad slor costume in need of multiple repairs. for once i didn't feel like his uncool older sister, the person he goes to for advice, for whom he will frantically clean his apartment. i looked at his eyes and said i am so proud of you and he smiled and when i hugged him again he whispered love you, buddy into the hair on the top of my head.

praying and hiking
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the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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