This was 11 years, 3 months, 28 days ago

tomorrow I start. if I were less opinionated about the valences of adding-labels-to-things I might say that this would be the 'entrance of a new chapter', 'a marked change in my life', et cetera, et cetera, or so on and so forth. but because I do believe that these grandiose declarations are often times unproductive than not, that there's a certain precious value in conceiving my narrative as a gradual flow that bends but never ruptures, I'll say only that I'm: excited, calmly apprehensive (in the best way possible), interested, I'm leaning forward, I have guitar chords and a persistent lovely drumbeat in my ear and I can't wait to move, I can't wait to be in the thick of things. I can't wait to go emerge from studios for a smoke break or a food run at 1am in the morning, a few days before a project ends, burning the midnight oil, looking up and southwards towards the midtown haze, dreaming of brooklyn, dreaming of buildings and spaces being built, falling down, erected and razed, inflated, dug out, projected, popped-up, hollowed out, filled in, pulled up.

and yesterday: was a dream of a day, no work done, no emails sent, was nothing but sun and water and a sense of home. wonderful wonderful wonderful wonderful. and I was so happy to be on the train: it's as if all the trains I was on (and will ever be on) all thread through each other, pleated fabric-like manifolds of space punctured in unison. when I'm on this lovely train (tipsy happy muted voices echoing) headed back to new york, I'm in mongolia, having just left russia, looking out a window, or I'm going upstate in a yearned-for winter train, or I'm here, the lights overhead turning these night windows into mirrors, reflecting and folding the train into itself over and over, over and over and over and over and over.