– Riding a subway is an act both of faith and of transgression
– So are books stacked horizontally
– So is masculinity
– Time’s ability to heal wounds is tremendously sad
– As is the very notion of trust, since it implies the possibility of betrayal
– Blogs can get quickly out of control sometimes 😉
I can never decide whether I regret some subgroup of my past relationships. I certainly don’t buy the “I don’t have regrets” thing that so many people do. Anyone who has no regrets either a) hasn’t had much of a life, b) is lying, maybe even to themselves, or c) is dim. Just sayin’.
At least, I have yet to be convinced.
I wish there was a mariachi band in here right now. They’d get a hell of a tip.
Walking home, I saw a man sleeping on a cash register through one of the shop windows on Broadway. I felt as though I wanted to help him out somehow, but I don’t know what I could possibly have done for him.
At the right moment nearly anything in existence can take on a transcendental sheen for the right observer. To be that observer at that moment is to experience joy.
Already I feel as though I’ve lived a million years in New York. I look out the window and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was like to see that for the first time. I can’t remember how it felt to arrive, or what I thought about the local neighborhood. Is it the place doing this, or something in me?
I have to go to bed, I’m trying to shake a god damn sniffle.