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I'm not entirely sure why I ended up writing the travelogue of yesterday as a stream of consciousness study. I wanted to remember the day but not bore myself, this was kind of fun. Here goes:
Time to go to New York.
Find appropriate shoes, too hot for uggs; never do the City in open toe shoes. Pavement pounding sneakers procured. To bus station.
Desolate train terminal. No people, run down shacks and littered tracks. Beautiful day, blue shy, fluffy clouds, hawk making lazy circles. Train arrives, three quarters of an hour later.
Each train terminal the same dingy. Terminal, end, finished, good word. After seeming interminable terminals, Newark. No, not New York. Yes, train should go there, not today. Shuffle on the platform, train late. One quarter of an hour late; until it arrives, everyone jumps at the sound of screeching metal that is not ours.
Into the City. City pressure makes my ears pop as we pass under the river. My head feels like it's in a vice. The feeling will not subside until we leave. New York, Penn Station.
Food! Plans for finer fair dashed by hunger and schedule. A Roy Rogers is hidden, last of a dying breed. Burger, corn dog, Krispy Kreme, all bad for you, all good. A New York rarity, a bathroom. Floor is by turns sticky or slick from washing. You do not want to fall. Bum, businessman, artist, me, all men humble themselves equally to porcelain release.
Cab line. Good people watching. Man in front of me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle spasms behind his ear; he doesn't know. Everyone is self absorbed, self important, self contained; sad but colorful. God, I hate New York.
Cabbie longs for Las Vegas. Recalls Mussolini and Illuminati. "They" are in control. Hero gangsters and desert dreams, a cross drawn in ball point on the cab ceiling. Broadway.
Bookstore. Mystery Inc? Sigmund Freud action figures and Shakespeare bobble heads. Store's dog has gone grey, didn't ask his name. Betting Baskerville, maybe Watson. Should have asked. Starbucks ubiquitous. Liquid chocolate, bliss.
Find theater, completely different from last. Columbia film school is nomadic. Waiting, people watching, orange women, crones needing red hats, Eric! Hugs and hellos, more Starbucks. Darwin at last.
Six movies, student films, just shy quarter hour each. One, imaginary friend goes home. Two, hopelessness looking for story, a mess and a mime. Three, Darwin, banana bread, inside info, fun. Four, black play, awkward, family connections on display. Five, Tracks, car-ma, lovable cranky dike, I complement the director, it was my favorite. Six, lacking connection is the connection, Missing, good, yet something, missing.
After films. Shmooze with friends. I give a viking history lesson, must contact nice Asian gamer girl wanting viking in next film. Food! Good Thai, no fast food here. Eric as company, very pleasant, too long talking. Run!
Too late for subway, cab again. Scary ride, too tired for the excitment of the near miss. Path, more path, Newark. Last train.
Sleep.
Time to go to New York.
Find appropriate shoes, too hot for uggs; never do the City in open toe shoes. Pavement pounding sneakers procured. To bus station.
Desolate train terminal. No people, run down shacks and littered tracks. Beautiful day, blue shy, fluffy clouds, hawk making lazy circles. Train arrives, three quarters of an hour later.
Each train terminal the same dingy. Terminal, end, finished, good word. After seeming interminable terminals, Newark. No, not New York. Yes, train should go there, not today. Shuffle on the platform, train late. One quarter of an hour late; until it arrives, everyone jumps at the sound of screeching metal that is not ours.
Into the City. City pressure makes my ears pop as we pass under the river. My head feels like it's in a vice. The feeling will not subside until we leave. New York, Penn Station.
Food! Plans for finer fair dashed by hunger and schedule. A Roy Rogers is hidden, last of a dying breed. Burger, corn dog, Krispy Kreme, all bad for you, all good. A New York rarity, a bathroom. Floor is by turns sticky or slick from washing. You do not want to fall. Bum, businessman, artist, me, all men humble themselves equally to porcelain release.
Cab line. Good people watching. Man in front of me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle spasms behind his ear; he doesn't know. Everyone is self absorbed, self important, self contained; sad but colorful. God, I hate New York.
Cabbie longs for Las Vegas. Recalls Mussolini and Illuminati. "They" are in control. Hero gangsters and desert dreams, a cross drawn in ball point on the cab ceiling. Broadway.
Bookstore. Mystery Inc? Sigmund Freud action figures and Shakespeare bobble heads. Store's dog has gone grey, didn't ask his name. Betting Baskerville, maybe Watson. Should have asked. Starbucks ubiquitous. Liquid chocolate, bliss.
Find theater, completely different from last. Columbia film school is nomadic. Waiting, people watching, orange women, crones needing red hats, Eric! Hugs and hellos, more Starbucks. Darwin at last.
Six movies, student films, just shy quarter hour each. One, imaginary friend goes home. Two, hopelessness looking for story, a mess and a mime. Three, Darwin, banana bread, inside info, fun. Four, black play, awkward, family connections on display. Five, Tracks, car-ma, lovable cranky dike, I complement the director, it was my favorite. Six, lacking connection is the connection, Missing, good, yet something, missing.
After films. Shmooze with friends. I give a viking history lesson, must contact nice Asian gamer girl wanting viking in next film. Food! Good Thai, no fast food here. Eric as company, very pleasant, too long talking. Run!
Too late for subway, cab again. Scary ride, too tired for the excitment of the near miss. Path, more path, Newark. Last train.
Sleep.