6:13am F Train.
Last night I cringed at the thought of being awake before the sun. This morning I'm elated by my reunion with the purple swashes of paint that get splashed onto the world at night. They are dark. And meaningful. And kind. The streetlights seem extra bright with those long illuminated fingers stretching in all directions, far into the darkness.
The F train watches the night sneak away from Smith st. The couple sitting across from me are sitting painfully close, stealing nervous looks of passion from each other every other minute. They're clutching each other's hands like the ride to wherever they're headed is a walk of the plank. They're light is stretching towards me, desperately.
Delancey St. They're gone.
That is to say, they aren’t sitting across from me anymore, but they left something here with me. It’s small, diminutive. An appreciation for something simple.
My ride on the train today is not a dreadful impetus towards something I can’t handle.
That’s enough for me.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sleepy Realizations.
A bitter day in 2008. R Train. Effing late.
My neck started to hurt as both my head and my novel bobbed with exhaustion. As I cursed the NYC transit system for making MY train a local one, I saw something that confused me. Directly to my left was an entire pack of gum, each piece unwrapped and carelessly strewn about the train floor. The peculiarity of the wasted gum made me uncomfortable, like seeing fish out of water, or something extravagant, wrinkled. It brought me to the entrance of a place that I hadn’t been before.
It was then that I began to try to imagine how the poor little never-been-chewed victims had gotten this far. I mean, someone bought them. Someone thought about the flavor, the brand, which pack to grab… and cared enough about these little guys to lug them onto public transportation. So what happened between now and then? What on earth could this crime scene have looked like at its prime? It then occurs to me that it must have been my ex-girlfriend who’s done this. It’s so obvious! Only she knows true wastefulness… True failure to appreciate…anything worth appreciating…in a way that’s meaningful.
Ugh.
Ok, in the midst of my mini-commuter-spearmint-meltdown I became empowered and realized that… A) There are lots of crazies out there. B) TONS of them. C) I date most of them. And D) Most importantly, there’s a pack of gum in all of our pockets. It’s up to us who we waste it on.
My neck started to hurt as both my head and my novel bobbed with exhaustion. As I cursed the NYC transit system for making MY train a local one, I saw something that confused me. Directly to my left was an entire pack of gum, each piece unwrapped and carelessly strewn about the train floor. The peculiarity of the wasted gum made me uncomfortable, like seeing fish out of water, or something extravagant, wrinkled. It brought me to the entrance of a place that I hadn’t been before.
It was then that I began to try to imagine how the poor little never-been-chewed victims had gotten this far. I mean, someone bought them. Someone thought about the flavor, the brand, which pack to grab… and cared enough about these little guys to lug them onto public transportation. So what happened between now and then? What on earth could this crime scene have looked like at its prime? It then occurs to me that it must have been my ex-girlfriend who’s done this. It’s so obvious! Only she knows true wastefulness… True failure to appreciate…anything worth appreciating…in a way that’s meaningful.
Ugh.
Ok, in the midst of my mini-commuter-spearmint-meltdown I became empowered and realized that… A) There are lots of crazies out there. B) TONS of them. C) I date most of them. And D) Most importantly, there’s a pack of gum in all of our pockets. It’s up to us who we waste it on.
Dekalb Ave
(From 9/29/08)
Like less elegant ocean waves, we took turns bobbing our heads toward the increasing potential of an oncoming train. Somehow when an invasion of personal space is made by a meerkatting onlooker glaring towards the empty tunnel, we lend each other forgiveness. There's a calm about the subway platform, or perhaps the state of communal waiting, that silences us as like Sunday morning mass. Unlike such formal services, I’m yet to feel the need to scream or violently tear my way out of the situation.
I tried not to grin when I realized there was comfort in the way we stood there sighing at each other; audibly, letting our eyes link in half second intervals, affirming our patience and insisting on our inherent impatience. Contemplating life in unison, we listened to the hum of a voiceless occupied space; eventually piling into our ride home.
Like less elegant ocean waves, we took turns bobbing our heads toward the increasing potential of an oncoming train. Somehow when an invasion of personal space is made by a meerkatting onlooker glaring towards the empty tunnel, we lend each other forgiveness. There's a calm about the subway platform, or perhaps the state of communal waiting, that silences us as like Sunday morning mass. Unlike such formal services, I’m yet to feel the need to scream or violently tear my way out of the situation.
I tried not to grin when I realized there was comfort in the way we stood there sighing at each other; audibly, letting our eyes link in half second intervals, affirming our patience and insisting on our inherent impatience. Contemplating life in unison, we listened to the hum of a voiceless occupied space; eventually piling into our ride home.
A Waltz.
9/23/09 9:25am F train-
I sat in my little orange corner of the F train while KD Lang sang about broken cold hallelujahs. Somehow the gravel in her voice forced down every cement wall and electric fence I had secured around my soft spots. You know, the wooden floor boards in the attic that you dont walk on because you're just not sure.
Tears welled as I commuted towards something. Something for better, something for worse. Something that makes me ridiculously happy; that is... when my my fortress is in place and KD Lang isn't hand delivering my reality.
The woman across from me feels the same way. Our sadnesses speaks to eachother like old friends. They dance together right there in the middle of that train and teach us a little something about humanity.
Why is it that when the weakness of two people come together they form something not only strong, but seemingly intense and beautiful? Is every piece of beauty we see built from scattered bits of people's sadness? Is that why it brings us back to tears when we really feel it? When we REALLY feel it.
Thank god for this woman. Hallelujah.
I sat in my little orange corner of the F train while KD Lang sang about broken cold hallelujahs. Somehow the gravel in her voice forced down every cement wall and electric fence I had secured around my soft spots. You know, the wooden floor boards in the attic that you dont walk on because you're just not sure.
Tears welled as I commuted towards something. Something for better, something for worse. Something that makes me ridiculously happy; that is... when my my fortress is in place and KD Lang isn't hand delivering my reality.
The woman across from me feels the same way. Our sadnesses speaks to eachother like old friends. They dance together right there in the middle of that train and teach us a little something about humanity.
Why is it that when the weakness of two people come together they form something not only strong, but seemingly intense and beautiful? Is every piece of beauty we see built from scattered bits of people's sadness? Is that why it brings us back to tears when we really feel it? When we REALLY feel it.
Thank god for this woman. Hallelujah.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Temporarily disconnected...
Is it worth getting involved in something you know will only be temporary? People are constantly advising me to let go of anything that's not going to be there at different points in the future. Pick an increment- a year...2 years...5 years? Will it still be relevant? I mean, in that case, is it worth renting when your heart is set on buying? Is it worth cutting your hair if you know it'll grow back? Should I not wear sunblock since human demise is imminent? Is the immediate gratification that we get from these things lacking a level permanence that disqualifies them from being valued? Even a little? Is it not these things that allow us to breathe, function, and persevere, when we can't seem to reach something seemingly end-less? Isn't that worth something? Or is this our clever way of masking the mild yet fatal doses of disappointment we find rooted in these "for now's"? I guess I just don't know yet.
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