NY Writing, Pt 2
Just passed Fahrenheit 451 Swimwear and The Animal Farm Petting Zoo. 2 legs bad, 4 legs cute?
Sitting in a little jazz club between sets. Subway burrows 20 feet behind us along 9th Avenue. Avenue... revenuers.. talking about pine barrens, fires in the Hamptons, continents - that long ride back from the beach house.
Anyway, the nice thing about watching a good band is the smile which ends up tattooed to your face. These people are in the Olympics of musicianship. Interesting enough, the crowd treats it as a sport. A yelp of glee coincides with certain crescendo's. the players are all male (as is the audience), and we're all stored in our secret basement clubhouse.
An exercise in listening, different conversations:
"This guy was... a bit lousy" (pronounced as the insect)
"...he actually... uh... sells his own drums"
Another exercise, free write:
cigar box underarm holds reserve laughter smiles mouth pinned teef polished shadow over eyes we accept it real grin back. A girl speaks of duality two-allity. As if the know was the end. Obviously the know is the beginning - of bullshit most probably.
It's unfortunate that I have so many objectives in being here. The club I mean. The narrator's version of me never has more than 5 reasons to do something, and they all relate to, lead to understanding of his character, novel's theme, life.
Back home watching the cousin draw. He wears his just fashionable enough clothes in the way another man might wear a suit. It is possible that we feel a similar satisfaction in the tying of belt buckles, straightening of jackets, and placement of wallets in back right pockets. He has taken the habit of using 15 words to say what a young and excitable person says in 5. It seems to frustrate him. And he sighs habitually. Alltogether a lesson and promise of myself in 6-8 years.
I haven't described the rest of my family, or gotten back to my brother, or the weekend in South Hampton. (You might as well cross that Hampton bit off your list). Still no sight of my final thoughts.
Either the Daily Show or a bar and concert tomorrow night. The Cousin backpeddles slightly on concert offer, not sure if he tries to save himself or your author.
Running out of ink. Seriously.
Seen above the body of water on New York's West Side: A plane tugging a sign advertising Snakes on a Plane's 8/18/06 release. Still doesn't seem real.
Part 1,000,000 of Things I Like About NY: Arranging to meet people. A complicated process, requiring detailed knowledge of streets, buses, and trains. If you're lucky, rendevous will be changed in transit. Envious passerbys will gawp as you bark instructions into your cellphone. Traffic will be too loud. It will be a crisis situation. Don't worry. You will weather the storm. You are a secret pretend New Yorker.
Realized, as I wrote those last sentences, that the preceding paragraph resembles and encrypted communication. Signal to Noise Ratio indeed.
The same man is interviewed once a day by CNN, but in different cities and under different names. He is caucasion, balding, middle aged, and works in insurance. The interviews are a hobby. He has not informed CNN.
Maggie has suspected her father since christmas, when she learned his model train set has had no electrical power since 1978.
1978 is the year Maggie's sister was born.
A description of the clouds below me and our plane, before the sun was burried by horizon:
"Clouds furrowed like goose bumped albino skin".
Slightly goolish, but necessary to avoid comparison with lamb's coat or the blond girl from last night. The best part was the beginning, faces kiss close to rage into each other's ear. The music was very loud.
I'm on my way back to meet the brother. I expect things will be much the same. He did a line on Sunday, the end of his three week vacation from cocain. I can't imagine it as coincidental - his vacation ends half-way through my own vacation.
I had made the decision not to blame myself. People can generally be treated as independent, a practice with interesting and catastrophic results.
Business Card, side A:
This Is Not A Pipe
-
est 2003
Business Card, Side B:
We povide: writings brilliance solutions
Ben Grad (404) 754 9569 fifth@333.org
[picture of fish]
I'd draw you a picture if that was my profession.
Touchdown. If Newton was right, we have probably moved our planet a tiny amount closer to the sun.
The suburban lights of Atlanta spelled something below us, and I missed it, damnit.
Sitting in a little jazz club between sets. Subway burrows 20 feet behind us along 9th Avenue. Avenue... revenuers.. talking about pine barrens, fires in the Hamptons, continents - that long ride back from the beach house.
Anyway, the nice thing about watching a good band is the smile which ends up tattooed to your face. These people are in the Olympics of musicianship. Interesting enough, the crowd treats it as a sport. A yelp of glee coincides with certain crescendo's. the players are all male (as is the audience), and we're all stored in our secret basement clubhouse.
An exercise in listening, different conversations:
"This guy was... a bit lousy" (pronounced as the insect)
"...he actually... uh... sells his own drums"
Another exercise, free write:
cigar box underarm holds reserve laughter smiles mouth pinned teef polished shadow over eyes we accept it real grin back. A girl speaks of duality two-allity. As if the know was the end. Obviously the know is the beginning - of bullshit most probably.
It's unfortunate that I have so many objectives in being here. The club I mean. The narrator's version of me never has more than 5 reasons to do something, and they all relate to, lead to understanding of his character, novel's theme, life.
Back home watching the cousin draw. He wears his just fashionable enough clothes in the way another man might wear a suit. It is possible that we feel a similar satisfaction in the tying of belt buckles, straightening of jackets, and placement of wallets in back right pockets. He has taken the habit of using 15 words to say what a young and excitable person says in 5. It seems to frustrate him. And he sighs habitually. Alltogether a lesson and promise of myself in 6-8 years.
I haven't described the rest of my family, or gotten back to my brother, or the weekend in South Hampton. (You might as well cross that Hampton bit off your list). Still no sight of my final thoughts.
Either the Daily Show or a bar and concert tomorrow night. The Cousin backpeddles slightly on concert offer, not sure if he tries to save himself or your author.
Running out of ink. Seriously.
Seen above the body of water on New York's West Side: A plane tugging a sign advertising Snakes on a Plane's 8/18/06 release. Still doesn't seem real.
Part 1,000,000 of Things I Like About NY: Arranging to meet people. A complicated process, requiring detailed knowledge of streets, buses, and trains. If you're lucky, rendevous will be changed in transit. Envious passerbys will gawp as you bark instructions into your cellphone. Traffic will be too loud. It will be a crisis situation. Don't worry. You will weather the storm. You are a secret pretend New Yorker.
Realized, as I wrote those last sentences, that the preceding paragraph resembles and encrypted communication. Signal to Noise Ratio indeed.
The same man is interviewed once a day by CNN, but in different cities and under different names. He is caucasion, balding, middle aged, and works in insurance. The interviews are a hobby. He has not informed CNN.
Maggie has suspected her father since christmas, when she learned his model train set has had no electrical power since 1978.
1978 is the year Maggie's sister was born.
A description of the clouds below me and our plane, before the sun was burried by horizon:
"Clouds furrowed like goose bumped albino skin".
Slightly goolish, but necessary to avoid comparison with lamb's coat or the blond girl from last night. The best part was the beginning, faces kiss close to rage into each other's ear. The music was very loud.
I'm on my way back to meet the brother. I expect things will be much the same. He did a line on Sunday, the end of his three week vacation from cocain. I can't imagine it as coincidental - his vacation ends half-way through my own vacation.
I had made the decision not to blame myself. People can generally be treated as independent, a practice with interesting and catastrophic results.
Business Card, side A:
This Is Not A Pipe
-
est 2003
Business Card, Side B:
We povide: writings brilliance solutions
Ben Grad (404) 754 9569 fifth@333.org
[picture of fish]
I'd draw you a picture if that was my profession.
Touchdown. If Newton was right, we have probably moved our planet a tiny amount closer to the sun.
The suburban lights of Atlanta spelled something below us, and I missed it, damnit.
posted by Fifth at 6:36 PM
1 Comments:
Running out of ink? You sound satisfied.
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