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WHO? Oliver. oof San Francisco again, Brooklyn before, Atlanta & Chicago wayback. RECENT: Mendocino The magical hour Something midwestern My Two Front Teeth oh yeah album titles Hello Summertime wow, i was tired Lists WRBC 2008 TRAVELS: Biodiesel trip across America (January, 2005) Paris (April, 2005) Election work in NM (November, 2004) ARCHIVES: July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 May 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 August 2003 June 2003 LINKS TO PALS: elly Toshok Pete Tuggy Workstatus Nathan Express Train SEARCH: RSS: Get your RSS feed here |
« "you work in there with THAT asshole?" |
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why here?There are times, like the darkest of nights, walking down steamy dark Brooklyn streets, leaving underground parties filled with illicit people with a beautiful woman on my arm, when I understand why I live in New York. Bars full of people on the LES, friends greeting each other over sushi in the neighborhood. Communities of workers. But then there's the whole rest of life. The horrific slow death by black cubicle walls, flourescent lights, burdened by responsibility I never wanted. I walk the streets surrounded by people who just don't know enough to care. I can't see the sky. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet. I can't get away. I can't get far enough away. I can't escape. all. of. this. I *need* to not be here. for how long, I don't know. I need isolation. Total fucking desolation. No one around. I want to be in the woods behind the cottage. I don't even care that the house is closed, there's no heat, no hot water. I want to see the ice floes across the lake, feel the biting cold air that cuts through any amount of clothes. I want to feel the leaves and branches snapping under my feet, to bury my hands in the cold hard dirt. I want to climb the ravine, to loose myself on the paths in the woods that i know so well. I can't take it anymore. Is this the time? The point at which I stop buying the cool gadgets, and the stylee clothes? Is this it? Am I ready to start saving all my money? I am preparing to go away? Do I have the balls? Even with the sage advice to get the hell outside, and the added benefit of a gorgeous day in an empty Central Park, calmness seems far away. I went into the park and just walked. farther. and farther. I ended up places unknown, places not visited before, secretive nooks & crannies that I want to use for all the good things, and yet. And yet. The only thoughts were alone. Deep cold breaths of air punctured my lungs, overcoat removed, just to *feel* more. Slow melted, rushing into drains. Horses tromped. Somewhere, a saxaphone player loved the snow and sunshine. run.
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