This was 12 years, 10 months, 25 days ago

really, all I am learning is process, or meta-process, or how to go about how to go about things, how to curate my own steps. right now I am where I could have been three weeks ago, except I feel like I needed all that in the middle to get to this point where I like what I am doing, a necessary perambulation. frodo baggins returns to the shire at the end of his bildungsroman. to go there and come back; progress as less a narrative of linear movement and more of a spatial perambulation, go here and there, to wander around the terrain of your understanding, curve around points, be attracted towards spaces. or maybe you circumambulate, hover around key ideas, thoughts, and emotions you hold sacred, orbit around them slowly as if they are monstrous galactic bodies...


yesterday I crashed on my friend's couch. in front of his apartment building door we were stuck for ten minutes because the doorman had gone out for an errand. but we didn't know that then, and we knocked on the door repeatedly. finally, I googled the building number on my phone, found a number for the building on some website somewhere, and promptly called it --- and the phone on the other side of the glass door started to ring. what a wonder. requests sent skyward fly to a cell tower (probably somewhere in Jersey) connected via fiber optics/copper cables to a server farm somewhere probably in the midwestern us and are sent back to me, so that I can then call the cell tower again and connect to the pstn network and have the signal make its way down a series of copper cables routing underneath this building and up into an old-fashioned telephone so that it can oscillate with the peals of a wonderfully old-fashioned bell ring three feet away. an endless multiplicity of actions conspiring, colluding to make this happen. what a wonder.


I've been falling asleep in subways lately, more and more so, and it's becoming easier and easier. while sometimes I wake up to find that only five minutes have passed, the other day I slept from 72nd st to hoyt-schermerhorn, nearly half of a borough, almost an entire city having passed me by. what's that like? millions of events just missed, gone, snap, like that, hurtling by overhead while I had my eyes closed.

in some way I feel like I have a luxury, the luxury of being wonderfully at home with this city, like it's my city to fall asleep in, my city to ignore, my city to pass by, my city to take for granted.


I come home and there's a didgeridoo leaning against the kitchen table, and for that I'm grateful. I lit a miniature fire after a got home, a little half-heartedly, didn't really set it up, but I was okay with that, and so I just stood a little, watched some paper and small kindling burn, blew on some embers, watched it flare up for a moment, looked at brooklyn's hazy-dim yellow sky, and that was that.


head in the air, drifting elsewhere, thinking of lingering smiles.