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I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight,
I want to wear it until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in Their cafe, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.









"If I could say half the things I wanted, I'd either be happy or hanging from a tree branch. Either way, the temptation is unbearable."




"Solitude brought out the worst in me. It gave me time to brood over the nature of things. I wondered how some people could be such a necessary part of one's life one day, and simply vanish the next. Isn't it supposed to last?"




Anthony Bourdain: "Some people watch porn."
A Friend: "And you watch men chopping pork..."
Anthony Bourdain shrugs and nods.