From my visit to New York:
December 22, 2007
"Saturday, the last"
What are you peddling, old man? You have no table; no trinkets. You sit behind nothing. Passersby do not stop for your wares; they continue on, to the next peddler -- who has a card table and things for sale. You sit there, between two honest salesmen. I don't trust you, old man. Not at all.
"Canal St. Station, J-train"
The blast of wind as the subway train passes feels good and cleansing to the face.
December 23, 2007
We sat on a few barstools in the Starbucks along Broadway, sipping our coffees. The weather was wet, and the buildings were darker. New Yorkers, when faced with wet weather, do not adjust their composure; they remain steady: their step, confident. No, Angelenos, they hustle as if wet carried illness.
On the A-train to the airport, I sat across a young black mother of no older than sixteen. She had her baby in a stroller in front of her. The lull of the subway had put the mother to sleep. Don't worry, child-mother, I'll look after her. You sleep for now. She's fine. I won't let anything happen to her. Not on my watch. I wonder who's the father. Is he decent? Well-to-do? Maybe not. You're only sixteen. What good man would knock a girl up at that age? No, no good man.
1.17.2008
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3 comments:
Hey Jonathan. Good life, lately? Hope so.
Today I explored your older entries and found a real breathing thing. The darker, intense you was exciting. One particular line stuck straight out of the page:
"The sun hurts him: exposes the immediacy of his world."
The immediacy of his world. It's a good wholesome line to swallow. Say, where did that all go? Not getting too caught up in pretty young things, now, are ya? They are the happiest ball-and-chain a man can bear. But still a ball-and-chain.
Just joking. Well, half-joking.
Well, don't get too comfortable with yourself, friend. Put in effort to bring some of that brood back. And keep on writin'.
just found this place. i'm writing a book called 'piss and wine,' so i googled it to see if anyone had used the phrase. you've got a nice poem by the name, and i read much of your most recent muses. good stuff, my friend.
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