The walk had one rule: go for a walk and interpret everything you see on the way as a message from the ‘infinite to you’. It began at 8:19 pm on the stoop of the Jefferson Market library and recorded itself in fragments the whole way. This is from the middle, pushing west.
Middle-aged people sucked back into the gravitational pole of sports, possibly due to a failing of imagination and willpower. More likely that people are attracted to crowds like moths to light because some part of them is deeply lonely? Of course that’s more a reflection of my own mind and opinions than any reality, but that’s the whole point of this massive screed anyway.
I need to keep going, WEST. Perhaps I can make it to the Grey Havens tonight and peek past the city’s light.
As I push WEST, Ivy climbs the bricks and public establishments thin out. I can hear the Knicks more clearly. The people talk less and the TV talks more.
I pissed in a bush and a jogger almost saw my penis.
I focus my eyes once then do push-ups. The Astroturf is only clearly visible at the top. I feel a growing discomfort in my stomach. Is it hunger or disgust? This vapid ocean scent reminds me over and over of waiting for the ferry in Long Island to take me to the other Shore.
This magical mind feels like I’m committing a crime.
Fucking get back in there. You’re not done. This is not a joke and I’m done looking back. My self-consciousness has taken massive hits in the past decade and it’s time to celebrate.
The 1990 film Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles distills much of what I hold dear about the dying carcass of this island. Yet I hear an honest call to go be in proximity of people watching the Knicks game.
There is a certain stateliness to the plant life of Manhattan parks. I’ve never seen it reproduced in nature, nor in any other city, and for that I have deep respect.
After river purging, I feel a deep love for the city re-emerging. The city barely cares what I think yet it asks lovingly what’s in it for me? As it continues its victory lap winking at spectators, caught up in destitute malaise.
We’re all tourists here latching onto New York City’s career.
A store awning reads “carry-on tea and sympathy”
Marv Albert says “it’s 76 to 49 at halftime. The fans are stunned. The Knicks are stunned.”