a saturday i wish it was morning reflection

remembering that so much has been good and unexpected and oh-how-quickly it could change.

A Rant

I have forgot to document you- life. 

Tonight on the train, I took the Q, a train I never take that mysteriously to me curves only slightly and momentarily into manhattan, arching back into the bouroughs. When it dips out and up or out and down- it emerges out of the earth and loops itself onto the lighted bridges that gracefully connect these floating islands. 

On the way into manhattan from queens there was essentially no one on the train. I plopped my bag next to me preparing for a silent ride home- a long hour stretch to consume a podcast or read the latest harpers. 

Quickly we dove under the

His bag fell on my feet and I said sorry I have to say something- I just came from a performance where the artist was reading a piece of itali Calvino and hen I got on this train and you sat down next to me and were reading If on a winters night a traveller. And then I remember I met all those people in the Balkans and I. First read italo Calvino on a train and a bus and traveling through the Balkans. And I thought how these follow you- or you follow those that you seek after- travelled peoples and travels. And I chose to take the subway home over a cab for this reason- to watch and observe rather than to sit isolated swilling through shameless article after article served onto- dare I ruin this mood- Facebook feed.

I had a minor health scare recently. It made me feel so many things I had never felt before. In the most terrible way it made me imagine that I wanted the world to stop if I wasn't here. If I am brutally honest I wanted nothing to go on if there was not the possibility for me to witness or consume it-which for someone who simultaneously believes in ghosts and nothing after death... Well it makes absolutely no sense. And then I routine to tradition and good luck charms and amulets. And Facebook. And excerise. I momentarily and I suppose let's hope longer became crazed with throwing all tools at my disposal towards luck when only a few years ago I could have chosen science. But sometimes reason fails and smarts only come with age. 

Snap

Crafty Cactus

I Spy Kansas City

Found via Fold Object. 

Some Notes

"The century concludes on the motif of the imossibility of subjective novelty and the comfort of repetition. This motif has a categorical name: obession. THe century ends with the obession of secuirety, under the dominance of the following, rather abject maxim: It's really not that bad being where you are already; it is and has been, worse elsewhere. Yet precisely what was most alive in the last hundred years placed itself, in the wake of Freud, under the sign of a devasting hysteria: What novelty have you to show us? Of what are you the creator?" --Alain Badiou, The Century

"my easgerness to wander in search of everything, which, I am confident, keeps me in mysterious commnication with other open beings, as if we were suddenly called to assemble. I would like my life to leave after it no other murmur than that of a watchman's song, of a song to while away the waiting. Independent of what happens and what does not happen, the wait itself is magnificent" - Andre Breton, Mad Love (1937)

A Minute

It is cold out and the snow is brushing along the streets gently pressed along by the wind. I love how quite the corner is. i  hear only some loose metal singing slowly swaying back and forth. This is a novelty here where typically you hear music born not of new york city streets but of Caribbean islands and cars honking and reeving. 

It is also dark in my apartment and it is a rare moment when everyone has already fallen asleep.

It is so warm in here the window is cracked and the smell of snow is wafting across my bare red and steamy shoulders. I should be more concerned about the tips of my hair freezing. 

I suppose I should mention the new year. I want to tie my tongue in knots and roll my eye balls backwards and twist my fingers into painful contortions because never have i ever dreaded such a new years task as this. 

I am miserable because my tone has swam away from me and control meandered for a walk. I have always been lost so to pretend this is something new would be disingenuous, but I have always had an excuse to be doing what had presently presented itself.  For the first time I am not sure if anything monumental has changed except I have learned more of how things are made in factories by many strange hands. I am the opposite of an artist. the multitude of people touching.