This was 11 years, 8 months, 7 days ago

here I am, twenty three. birthdays come and go.

today everything was very open, very fresh. in a soho alley I watched an enormous seagull stand in the center of the street. someone stops to offer a bit of fire to a passerby. it's seven pee em, and the sun is sinking and the shadows are growing and manhattan's streets are either closing or opening, depending on whether you're a day or night person. skies are still so high. last summer I made this study model of the boston plaza, made high tubes stretching to the sky that looked like enormous alleyways, gothic cathedrals, arboreal trunks, tried to argue for the wonder that comes when you're boxed in. this city is all the more precious for its claustrophobia.. some man passes me with a face that looks like it's been painted on. two dogs with wire-thin legs stand confused with beady eyes. I don't know, don't know, don't know.

spring and the inklings of a coming summer remind me of more warm nights, the sound of traffic boxes switching, things like that. nights spent lying on my back on cool sheets looking at the ceiling. air conditioner droning on (or not) and the feeling of endless possibility lying just around the bend. anything could happen tonight. everything's already happening tonight.