A middle-aged man is sitting on a park bench in
Prospect Park. Somehow, one gets the impression that he has been a die-hard Pink
Floyd fan for the past twenty years or so. The man is vigilantly observing
every single passerby as he listens to the music blaring through his
ostentatious headphones. Instead of an iPod, the man’s headphones are connected
to an actual Discman. After a period, he decides to listen to another artist
from days gone by so he reaches into the backpack sitting next to him on the
bench and pulls out a stack of actual Compact Discs in their cases. After
rifling through his stack of CDs, he selects an album, removes it from its
case, and inserts it into his Discman. Once he’s placed the previous CD back in
its case, he returns to attentively watching the people milling about Prospect
Park, entirely unaware of the stares he receives in return for his relic of yore.
New York Ramblings
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Day Thirteen - Spring's On Its Way!
Today finally felt like spring is on its way to NYC! Granted it was still on the chilly side (especially once the sun set) but, during the day, the sun was shining brightly and the birds were chirping away. Of course that meant I had to stop by the park on my way home from work to celebrate/people watch...
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Day Twelve - The Morning Commute
Here is a little sketch based on this morning's subway ride.
The group of kids rushing into the subway car
at the Union Street station was like a herd of thirsty antelope stampeding to
the first watering hole they had spotted in ages. Most of the adults on the
previously silent subway car that morning groaned or rolled their eyes at the
children’s antics. A simple field trip was certainly no reason to behave in
such an uncouth manner, particularly so early in the morning! But the woman
with the warm brown eyes smiled and was filled with joy because she imagined
that she was still one of them; that now she was truly among her own kind.
Seeing these children - with entire lives of limitless possibilities lying
ahead of them – gave her hope that her now mundane life could still retain some
of its original spontaneity and excitement.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Day Eleven - Another Itty Bitty Story: Part 2
Here it is: my short (short) story in its entirety!
In the early morning hours, when his insomnia would
catch up to him and refuse to let him go, Dusk would roam
his apartment like a tortured spirit unable to find peace in the hereafter. It
was during this time that he did his best thinking and his best self-loathing.
The longer Dusk stayed awake, aimlessly drifting through the shadows of his
darkened apartment, mired in his loneliness, the stronger his self-loathing
became. What was wrong with him? Why was he always alone?
Try as he may, Dusk couldn’t shake his stubborn
feelings of melancholy and self-doubt. Dusk went about his routine that day as
usual but his despair hovered over him like a cloud of ravenous gnats that
refused to be dispersed no matter how violently he swatted them away. Dusk
tried reading one of the books from the giant stack on his nightstand in an
effort to focus on someone else’s problems. He tried listening to some of his
favorite records, the ones that always cheered him up when he was feeling blue.
When he was hungry, he made himself a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Yet, as the
hours passed, the cloud of gnats grew thicker and more persistent. Dusk decided
to visit his friend, Night, to discuss the problem. Whereas Dusk allowed his
myriad neuroses to cloud his judgment, Night was always rational and clear
thinking. Night never let feelings cloud his vision when it mattered. Maybe
Night would be able to understand what he was going through, why he felt so
sad. Maybe Night would know why he was always alone.
As Dusk meandered along the tree lined street that
lead to his friend’s house, the cloud of gnats anxiously swarmed about his
head. Shuffling on leaden feet, Dusk considered his life thus far. The longer
he turned his life over and over in his mind as if it were an apple he was
rinsing under a faucet, the more Dusk felt his life was full of mistakes. All,
essentially, the same mistake endlessly repeated. One after another, after
another. So, here he was again, turning to Night for help because he was
utterly lost. Again. And he hoped Night could save him. Again.
Night greeted him at the door when he arrived. Dusk
lurched inside and plopped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. The walk hadn’t
helped to clear his head at all. A look of concern flashed across Night’s face.
Dusk bent forward and cradled his head in his hands. Night’s eyebrows shot
toward his hairline. He stood in front of Dusk, his eyes wide, holding a bottle
of furniture polish in one hand and a dust rag in the other. Agitatedly, Night
bounced on his toes as he waited for Dusk to speak. After a few minutes, Dusk
lifted his head and intently stared at Night.
“Why doesn’t anyone love me for me?” Dusk asked
Night. “People either find me depressing because I remind them that Day is
leaving or they find me exciting only because I remind them that you’re on your
way,” Dusk said. Night stood in contemplative silence for a moment, seemingly mulling
over this delicate dilemma with great care. He had stopped bouncing on his
toes. The furniture polish and dust rag hung limply by his sides. “Well,” Night
said, “maybe you should try being more distinctive.”
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Day Ten - Another Itty Bitty Story
Here is Part One of a short (short) story that I've been working on. I
will post the second half of the story tomorrow as the ending needs a
few more edits and I'm already cutting it down to the wire as it is. The
editing process can be so tedious sometimes...so much hinges on just a
single word when you're writing in a condensed form...but it's worth it!!
In the early morning hours, when his insomnia would
catch up to him and refuse to let him go, Dusk would roam
his apartment like a tortured spirit unable to find peace in the hereafter. It
was during this time that he did his best thinking and his best self-loathing.
The longer Dusk stayed awake, aimlessly drifting through the shadows of his
darkened apartment, mired in his loneliness, the stronger his self-loathing
became. What was wrong with him? Why was he always alone?
Try as he may, Dusk couldn’t shake his stubborn
feelings of melancholy and self-doubt. Dusk went about his routine that day as
usual but his despair hovered over him like a cloud of ravenous gnats that
refused to be dispersed no matter how violently he swatted them away. Dusk
tried reading one of the books from the giant stack on his nightstand in an
effort to focus on someone else’s problems. He tried listening to some of his
favorite records, the ones that always cheered him up when he was feeling blue.
When he was hungry, he made himself a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Yet, as the
hours passed, the cloud of gnats grew thicker and more persistent. Dusk decided
to visit his friend, Night, to discuss the problem. Whereas Dusk allowed his
myriad neuroses to cloud his judgment, Night was always rational and clear
thinking. Night never let feelings cloud his vision when it mattered. Maybe
Night would be able to understand what he was going through, why he felt so
sad. Maybe Night would know why he was always alone.
As Dusk meandered along the tree lined street that
lead to his friend’s house, the cloud of gnats anxiously swarmed about his
head. Shuffling on leaden feet, Dusk considered his life thus far. The longer
he turned his life over and over in his mind as if it were an apple he was
rinsing under a faucet, the more Dusk felt his life was full of mistakes. All,
essentially, the same mistake endlessly repeated. One after another, after
another. So, here he was again, turning to Night for help because he was
utterly lost. Again. And he hoped Night could save him. Again.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Day Nine - Dispatch from Midtown
One of my favorite things about this city is that it's always full of surprises. Around every corner, on each new block, you never what - or who - you'll see. It's moments like the one below that remind me to always keep my eyes open for the unexpected.
A typical weekday morning; the usual crush of
rush hour traffic speeding down Ninth Avenue. Endless ants scurrying along to
their cubicles for another day of monotony and meaningless paper shuffling.
Next to the taxis barreling toward midtown and beyond, a man riding a bicycle.
At first glance he looks like any other business drone: pin-striped suit; light
blue button-down shirt; and a dark, nondescriptly patterned tie. He is riding a
rusted and heavily scuffed black mountain bike alongside the Ninth Avenue
traffic. So confident is he in his bike riding skills that both his hands are
casually stuffed in his pant pockets as he pedals along, whistling some
cheerful tune.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Day Eight - Untitled
Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day so this dribble is all I can muster. The end.
Going to work is much easier now that I’ve resigned myself to my destiny: slowly rotting away in a cubicle, hunched over a keyboard like some digital age Quasimodo. But, while my life has been made less agonizing by submitting to fate as a cog in the machine of capitalism, my inner being, my very center, has shriveled down to some vile, revolting creature. My essence has turned into a slimy, writhing maggot. Don’t worry, little maggot, lie still. Soon it will all be over – before it barely began – and everything will be simple and effortless. Then you will never have to feel guilt for just accepting life as it is, for never questioning, for never truly engaging. Hush now, little maggot. Just close your eyes. It will all end soon.
Going to work is much easier now that I’ve resigned myself to my destiny: slowly rotting away in a cubicle, hunched over a keyboard like some digital age Quasimodo. But, while my life has been made less agonizing by submitting to fate as a cog in the machine of capitalism, my inner being, my very center, has shriveled down to some vile, revolting creature. My essence has turned into a slimy, writhing maggot. Don’t worry, little maggot, lie still. Soon it will all be over – before it barely began – and everything will be simple and effortless. Then you will never have to feel guilt for just accepting life as it is, for never questioning, for never truly engaging. Hush now, little maggot. Just close your eyes. It will all end soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)