JOEY NG  | e-mail tumblr rss newsletter ask me anything Will you still love me, tomorrow? |
| JOEY NG | e-mail tumblr rss newsletter ask me anything Will you still love me, tomorrow? |
I will love you always.
Downtown LA has lost its sweetheart.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I miss you so devastatingly.
I love you, Richard.
Be better, wee ginger.
This entry was written by , posted on January 16, 2012 at 2:07 am, filed under Friends, Los Angeles, Love and tagged Richard Gimbel, Richard S. Gimbel, Richard Scott Gimbel. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
“I was afraid. I reached out and touched her long hair. The hair was magic. I pulled my hand away. “Is all that hair really yours?” I asked. I knew it was. “Yes,” she said, “it is.” I put my hand under her chin and very awkwardly I tried to turn her head toward mine. I was not confident in these situations. I kissed her lightly.”
- Women, Charles Bukowski
I think I’ve settled on a name for this series. I’m going to call it
Darling you
And that’s all I have to say about this photo.
This entry was written by , posted on November 22, 2011 at 5:11 am, filed under Babes, Darling you, Friends, Los Angeles, Love, Photos and tagged Richard Gimbel, Richard S. Gimbel, Richard Scott Gimbel. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
- Charles Bukowski
I have all these little photos
of men
darling men
beautiful men.
Men I love for more reasons than not.
I wanted to start a series, but I just can’t decide what to call it.
Help?
Anyway, this is Sean.
And I love him.
This entry was written by , posted on October 19, 2011 at 2:23 am, filed under Babes, Darling you, Friends, Los Angeles, Love, Photos and tagged Echo Park, Sean Sader. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
I gave you my heart, Los Angeles, as the sun shone over Silverlake above Sunset.
Pretty girls in vintage frocks pitter-pattered until the dishes and pans were ready to disrobe their sheaths of foil.
Dreamy boys mashed the taters, poured the wine, and put on their best playlists for fairy-lit hem and hither.
Well, it’s been a year, and what a year it’s been. Now on the East coast, colder but closer to an understanding of home.
It’s the person on the other end of the line, earnestly wishing you the best, no matter the time of call. It’s about love.
Give it to someone special.
Merry Christmas.
xxx,
Joey
This entry was written by , posted on December 24, 2010 at 9:53 pm, filed under Friends, Los Angeles, Love, Writing and tagged Christmas, Los Angeles, Photos, Silverlake. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Quite frankly, I haven’t been quite honest with you, blog. I don’t even know what I’m trying to protect nor whether I even care anymore.
I suppose I was far too reckless with my honesty, before.
Complete disregard for other people’s, well, emotions and ongoing narratives.
And now I fear that I’m too afraid. A dichotomy of embarrassment and under-potentialising. I feel the need to ‘mature’. To protect the private lives of private people, to hush and class up my act. If this be the public face, the result of search Googled, then what can I bear to let you see and assume and project and personify?
And to what extent do I hide behind Born-again tact, scoffing at girls blogging about snogging my ex, twitpicing their dates and raising my heart rate. How much do I silence my rage, and low lows, or newfound excitement through an ever present melancholy at the cost of exercising my writing. I used to tell you everything.
I still have much to say.
This entry was written by , posted on at 4:17 am, filed under Love, Self-diagnoses, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child
but when I became a man, I put away childish things.For now we see through a glass, darkly
but then face to face…- 1 Corinthians 13
This entry was written by , posted on December 18, 2010 at 2:04 am, filed under Love, New York, Self-diagnoses and tagged Big Bird, Midtown, New York, New York City. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
When I fall in love and subsequently fuck it right up, I go looking for the exact same things in other men.
Like height
hair colour
bassists
funniness
birthdaystarsigns
It’s like ordering the same combo meal from McDonald’s. Time after time.
And regretting it
later.
This entry was written by , posted on November 27, 2010 at 12:25 am, filed under Jokes, Love, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
for him to make the first move any
move,
but you don’t hear a thing.
When you’re wondering
whether he still cares or thinks of you,
but you just can’t
tell.
You forget
how it’s supposed to be.
He’s supposed to look at you and
gush
“You’re so pretty.”
He’s supposed to put his arm around you
when you cross the street
on the walk home.
Give you an earnest kiss
goodbye and ask to see you soon.
You forget, and so did he.
This entry was written by , posted on November 16, 2010 at 12:39 am, filed under Love, Writing and tagged Until someone else reminds you how. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Like his independence or his individuality.
But to
give.
Nice things.
Things like his favourite snack, a soft surface,
compliments and good head.
She just wants to know if you’d like those things from her and whether it’d be ok to do it again tomorrow.
This entry was written by , posted on September 15, 2010 at 7:02 am, filed under Love, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Let me tell you about travelling. It’s lonely.
To be ready, jet-set at the drop of an Expedia confirmation may seem like a cool job, and if I have to think about it, it really is. But ask me how I feel and I’ll tell you that “I don’t know, I don’t have the time to consider these things” because it’s easier to pretend that too much is going on in my life than to admit that I am completely, emotionally wrung dry.
You basically take your usual hipster non-committal nonchalance and put a giant, erratic, ticking clock on every relationship (romantic or otherwise), multiplying any sense of isolation ten-fold.
I meet someone. And I have to declare:
“There’s only one thing you need to know about me. And that is.
I will leave you
- unwillingly.”
Which usually lends to the other person behaving in one or two ways:
1. Like a total dick. The I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving anyway.
or
2. In fear of attachment. Making it known that I’m not going to emotionally invest in you. Cold and infrequent.
They both suck.
When you operate every day knowing that someone you’ll grow to care for and like is actively suppressing your significance in their life, it FUCKING SUCKS.
When you relate to people knowing that you are merely transient, not important in their grand scheme of things, well, it essentially nulls the point of relating at all.
It makes me feel like shit.
So you have a good cry and chalk it up to the experience, the situation, the occupational hazard and move on to the next city.
And then you have to do it AGAIN.
So for people to assume that I’m always running away from something, taking the easy way out, that it’s always easier to leave than to be left behind… no.
It’s not that. Ultimately, I do have a choice.
It’s just that no-one has given me a reason to stay.
Not even tried.
This entry was written by , posted on September 11, 2010 at 4:45 am, filed under Babes, Friends, Jokes, Love, Self-diagnoses, Sex, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.