I took the subway to work this morning, got off at a stop I knew by heart, and walked into a building where the front desk has known me for years. After work, I hung out at a bar on the lower east side, then had dinner at a restaurant I’ve been to dozens of times before. My feet took me on autopilot back to the A train, back to my stop, up the stairs, down the street, around the corner and into my apartment.
But I don’t work here any more. I don’t live here any more. And the apartment is empty of everything but echoes.
That dream, the one where you’re walking around your grandparents house, but you keep coming into rooms that you don’t recognize, that are connected to the familiar by strange geometries? I think I’m inside it right now.
Archive for February, 2009
I have occasionally opined since moving to California that while I don’t miss New York’s sweltering midsummer, I did kind of miss real winter.
Ladies and gentlemen, the gods are not mocked:
Good lord ouch. I think whatever I was missing involved a lot more snow and hot chocolate, and a lot less icy knives being driven into my eyesockets.
Meanwhile, in lieu of anything actually interesting to say, here’s what’s been in my head for the last 48 hours. Buy the album.
Weird to Be Back (Firewater, from “The Golden Hour“)
Well I just touched down today
And it’s strange to say but
It’s great to see ya
I’ve been so long away
And I’ve been so long alone
Sorry for the delay
Oh turbulance and misconnections
Life’s a one way plane
Man it’s weird to be back home
So I just dropped in today
To check on all my old obsessions
Everything’s the same
Or maybe just a little worse
Just crashed in to say
No brass band, ticker tape parade
Must’ve been delayed
Man it’s weird to be back
Weird to be back home