I dreamed I rode a blue bicycle,
Hair streaming out behind me,
I dreamed Apollo was flying above,
And that you were there beside me.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
It amazes me the extent to which my dog stands epitomizes the visceral need we living things have for physical contact. He would sooner sleep in my lap, or curled up in the small of my back than any other place. It honors me so when he displays this unfiltered and absolute desire to share space, sleep and dreams. Partly because I need it too.
My current life schedule sees me spending around two hours a day in transit and as such, I have sufficient opportunity to people watch. It’s one of my favorite things to do, watch people. But somehow, on the subway such observation can become disheartening. I guess that’s why so many New Yorkers seem permanently plugged into various and sundry electronic devices.
I love my Ipod, it is a treasure for its ability to inspire the choir of my mind. But its knack for connecting me to myself also results in a disconnection from those around me and I often find myself floating through the city, detached from the beautiful mess surrounding me…which can get rather dangerous.
Indeed, I’ve been so overwhelmed lately that I’ve opted to leave out the earphones. This conscious choice invites a degree of unwanted attention from people who can be sure that I can hear them. What’s most interesting however, are not the random comments (though they can get quite intricate) but the very real emotion that walking through my day without distraction can incite. Not only am I more vulnerable to the ideas of others, but I’m more receptive to my own as well. The more I ride the train, the more obvious the unnatural detachment of the average new Yorker becomes. I’m frightened to end up permanently cut off from everyone around me. I fought so hard today to keep from spontaneously hugging the man sitting next to me when just hours earlier I had been exasperatedly elbowing my way through the morning rush hour. So I’m either bi-polar….or the dualistic blessing/curse of New York City’s anonymity has caught up with me after the three plus years I’ve called myself a Manhattanite. Maybe it’s time for a break…or maybe it’s just time to throw in the towel and fucking hug the random dude perched beside me on the evening express train home.
It amazes me the extent to which my dog stands epitomizes the visceral need we living things have for physical contact. He would sooner sleep in my lap, or curled up in the small of my back than any other place. It honors me so when he displays this unfiltered and absolute desire to share space, sleep and dreams. Partly because I need it too.
My current life schedule sees me spending around two hours a day in transit and as such, I have sufficient opportunity to people watch. It’s one of my favorite things to do, watch people. But somehow, on the subway such observation can become disheartening. I guess that’s why so many New Yorkers seem permanently plugged into various and sundry electronic devices.
I love my Ipod, it is a treasure for its ability to inspire the choir of my mind. But its knack for connecting me to myself also results in a disconnection from those around me and I often find myself floating through the city, detached from the beautiful mess surrounding me…which can get rather dangerous.
Indeed, I’ve been so overwhelmed lately that I’ve opted to leave out the earphones. This conscious choice invites a degree of unwanted attention from people who can be sure that I can hear them. What’s most interesting however, are not the random comments (though they can get quite intricate) but the very real emotion that walking through my day without distraction can incite. Not only am I more vulnerable to the ideas of others, but I’m more receptive to my own as well. The more I ride the train, the more obvious the unnatural detachment of the average new Yorker becomes. I’m frightened to end up permanently cut off from everyone around me. I fought so hard today to keep from spontaneously hugging the man sitting next to me when just hours earlier I had been exasperatedly elbowing my way through the morning rush hour. So I’m either bi-polar….or the dualistic blessing/curse of New York City’s anonymity has caught up with me after the three plus years I’ve called myself a Manhattanite. Maybe it’s time for a break…or maybe it’s just time to throw in the towel and fucking hug the random dude perched beside me on the evening express train home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
