Rockefeller

Went to the Rockefeller today. It wasn't planned. Just thought I'd go and see that tree after I showed up at school for the first time of the week only to find a closed door. Buying a ticket took about 3 minutes, and that's because the girl behind the desk looked cute. I think that no more than 10 minutes passed between the moment I bought the ticket and the moment I was in the elevator, looking up through the glass ceiling as the elevator work its way up the sixty and some stories to the observation deck. It was surprisingly warm up there. You have access to three floors. The first two have tall glass walls to protect people with suicidal tendencies or "special needs" from themselves. At first glance, it looks better than the curved prison-like bars at the Empire State, but then you want to take pictures and you wonder what will come out best: the landscape or the wonderful map of fingerprints. Somehow, you can't really put the Chrysler nicely in a picture as it's hiding behind the ugly Metlife thing some people call a building. On the top floor, there are no more glass walls. But then, if you jump from there it's only one floor. The good thing is you can pretend there is nothing below but the void. It's still a good jumping spot. Soon enough, someone is going to notice that too and go for the big jump, and then they'll put curved prison-like bars behind the tall glass walls with electric barbed wire everywhere. I love old pictures of the Empire before they put the bars. When the only thing between you and the void was your common sense and a stone wall no higher than your waist. I left before sunset. The light was already strange. Ordinarily, I would have waited, but that was a long week with the MTA on strike and all, and I was already half-asleep. I put more pics online, just follow the link.

I miss my friends

When I was in France, I would regularly dream of New York. Then I would wake up in a non-New York place, and be very disappointed. At this point, I can't think of living anywhere else. Maybe it would be wise to move West, or just away from the megalopolises that attracts so many immigrants that we are canceling each other chances of making it here. I don't know.

The strange thing is I've been dreaming a lot about France these last couple months. I thought it was just a temporary thing, but it only got worse. And know, there's always some friends of mine guest-starring in my dreams. Old friends, good friends, best friends, friends I've lost touch with, ex girlfriends, friends who are now dead or so deep into hard drugs that they might as well be dead already. Individually or by groups, they come and haunt my dreams.

It might sound weird, but in a way, it's nice to see them. Dreams have this quality of creating a new reality. During those few seconds, everything is as real for us as the daytime reality. So I see my friends.

Then I wake up anxious and stressed and wondering why the fuck I try so hard to make it here. It's not like I believe in the American Dream. It's not like I want to be rich and famous.

Seeing the Brooklyn Bridge everyday makes it worth it. Walking through Grand Central everyday makes it worth it. Eating a big-ass cheeseburger in a 24 hour diner downtown makes it worth it.

On the down side there is the lack of insurance, the fact that I'm not saving money for my retirement. The fact that I cannot see my old friends and family. Oh, and I miss bread and cheese too.

Bad boy. Bad.

I know I'm clearly not updating this as often as I should. The thing is I have tons of excuses to explain what, ranging from computer failure to secretly saving the world of aliens who have sworn to exterminate the human race. And everything in between.

Posting pics is usually the post of the lazy but I don't even do that. So, yep, bad, bad, bad.

acknowledgments

I would like to thank the guy at Blogger.com who came up with the idea of the "Recover post" option and who thus saved part of the previous post.

what we are

You think you need to stop. At night, you tell yourself "I'm gonna take a day and figure this out. Make a decision." But this is New York. Things don't work that way here. There's always a bus to catch, stairs to rush down to catch a train. There's always new projects popping up that demand a squeeze in your schedule. There's always people you want to see but you can't. There's always people you don't wan't to see but you have to. There's always another rent right at the corner. The rent money is always on our mind here.

The City grabs us, shoves us around. We're pushed, tricked, hustled, squeezed, cheated.

We don't have to. Could be somebody else. Plenty of 'em waiting.

We stumble and try to stay up. We're broke but we keep going. We're talked to ways we don't like and we let it know - when we can. We don't die. Not in the City. We just disappear. There are no cemeteries for our tired bodies to rest. Our feet hurt. There's the rent coming up pretty soon, but today we'll take a cab anyway because our feet hurt and because something will happen tomorrow. Something always does, here. The same way there'll always be someone to trip you up, to sell you out. Always someone to take your seat. Always someone to cut the line in front of you. Always someone to ask you for a dollar. For 25 cents.

We're always on the lookout. We're always on the run from somewhere. We were not born here. Nobody was. Ever. Welcome in Transcient City. Nulle-part-lieu.

Always somebody wants something from you, wants to take something from you. Once in a while, someone holds a subway door for you. Someone finds your eyes because something unusual is going on and in this brief moment when our eyes look at each other, we exchange all there is to communicate. You have a new friend. But the train stops and its your stop too so you get off and this friend, you'll never see him/her again.

We exchange posts on Craigslist. "You were reading a magazine." "You had a bike." "You said, 'Nice scarf.'"

"I didn't know what to say." "I didn't know how to break the ice."

"Our eyes met."

"It was in the L train."

"G line"

"Lexington avenue train."

We trip. Somebody may have tripped us up. Sometimes we fall. Sometimes we fall, but sometimes we don't.

In Summer you're boiling in the streets. In Winter, you're freezing your ass off. But we raise buildings and skyscrapers where there was bare rock.

Sometimes we get up after we fell. Sometimes we don't.

We grow old but we don't die. We disappear. We take a special train. That's where all the MTA's money going. Nobody cares if you jump the turnstile or not. In our last train ride we disappear. Deep into the City.

Stand clear of the closing doors.