Making our way to a tiled subway station in Brooklyn. We arrive, and one can choose an exceptional person (matched with a color) on a pendant to be placed on the entrance of the station. The entire rectangle is covered in a single small portrait, the reddish color of bentonite clay.
I think perhaps the entire subway station changes to the portrait you pick. But I don’t know, I only visited just the once.
Parents finally trying to get themselves together to move into their new house, which they’ve owned for awhile. It stands on a corner — tall, narrow, empty, and pristinely white on every surface. Inconveniently, the squat modern apartment my parents rented for me to stay near them is three plots down. Not having adjacent backyards means we can’t spend time together but be in our own spaces. Going through the charming sideyard, with loungers and decorations of flickering tiny pumpkins, I understand better that we’re really using it as an Airbnb.
A streak of trees and sky filtered through some distortion, like glass, but treated by my mind’s eye as a real object. A striking impression of autumn in New York.
In a wide upstairs apartment, I find myself in bed, suddenly noticing the remarkable beauty of a girl I know. (Perhaps out of superstition, I’m not saying who it was — but she wouldn’t be surprised to know I found her beautiful). Perfectly proportioned, and simply fascinating. I’m somehow allowed to just keep looking….
But when I touch her it’s frustrating. Trying to massage her, I can’t hear her feedback or instructions. Instead I end up cleaning a congealed mass of sweet potato/quinoa/smoothie.
My wife kisses me (to wake me up perhaps?) and I don’t recognize its a person. Like, it happens, but that there’s a person who does it simply isn’t understood.
Seems unrelated, but also: there was an escaped convict guy crossing a bridge across a bay, careening off the bridge onto New York’s shoreline. He and I shoot buzzsaws out our hands (as you do).