This was 17 years, 5 months, 13 days ago

some morning a week ago.

There's a crackling sound behind me, to the left. I turn and watch a fluorescent light flicker, uncertainties in light translated into sound, not-so-sure, still-not-so-sure.

The slow crawl of activity growing on streets.

It's something to watch a trainful of people on time (7:50) leaking south from the 116th stop, dispersing gradually. I imagine this happening over the city. A typical description would be a set of veins, of subway blood, dispersion, interconnectedness, some kind of fanciful unity I see over the set of commuters making its collective way to work.

In the morning D's parents leave their house to take the subway. The New York Subway is like a set of veins, and millions of people take it every day. see picture.

It occurs to me this morning that at the core there's a relentless individuality, a particle nature to the operation of things. Under the opaque shroud of hierarchies within emergent systems it all comes down to the singular unit, formerly indivisible. a-tom. Now, subject to political jumblings, red-tape, an indifference at the multitude of interactions achieved daily. Saliva glands arguing with the tongue about a bell. Or -- it might as well be that emergence depends on this lack of individual affection, expectation for constant a-interaction, a-connection, a-pathos, to consolidate initial individual insignificances into a final unrecognizable whole. A foot, because muscle cells do not feel hurt, the vice-leader, because some of us are not heard. The dismal idea of an elementary disconnect, undesirably necessary, regrettably imperative. Maybe.


Warm shivers running up and down my arms. People I do miss. I read what I had written three years ago, in Korea, and I laughed inside and smiled. It seems that every year I lose some of what I had when I was sixteen. Even now I should be doing something else. Is it ever really possible to _? -- blanks left out, my search for a nameless understanding, acceptance, movement, apology. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I just - we just - well I - you see - Momentary unexplainables, mutes.

This growing morning what I see more are the turning backs of people, ventral views sliding around, doors shutting, cars moving away. It's an bias in symmetry, action-reaction pairs that I'm unconsciously picking out from: there, a fading doppler effect from the car horn, here, the swinging flap of a deli's trash can. I hope fervently that I haven't lost you yet.