Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
Reading on the L train as it rocketed underneath the East River in the early morning remains of Saturday night / Sunday morning. The worn, bleach blond haired woman with the gypsy face and buxom figure sitting across from me suddenly began laughing, holding her pink fake nails over her mouth as I looked up from my book. She smiled at me shaking her head as she put her hand down, flashing her eyes toward the other passengers, then laughing again she returned her playful gaze to me. I looked around the somber, morgue like train, searching under the stale fluorescent light for the source of her laughter. Heavy heads with ashen faces nodded against their own weight as the train screeched and burrowed its through the underground. She got up and came and sat down next to me, holding her hand out, smiling. I thought that she wanted to introduce herself as she leaned up against me, but she was pointing at my book that I held open in my lap. "You reading," she said with a strong Eastern European accent, still smiling, trying to keep from laughing. "Look," she said turning toward the dead-to-the-world-passengers who looked as though they were being ferried across the River Styx to the underworld. "They drinking. Es crazy, no? Look what they do. And you reading, smiling. Strange. No?" No. Surreal, I thought as I looked around, that I'd be beaming, reading Andrei Cordescu, oblivious that I was on my way to the fifth circle of hell.
Showing posts with label Signs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Signs. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Crazy Heart
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
This ain't no place for the weary kind
This ain't no place to lose your mind
This ain't no place to fall behind
I rolled the dice comin' to this town. I felt like I had nothin' to lose. So I sold everything and climbed on the plane with anxiety, hope and apprehension racing through my veins. I left Austin with my heart on the loose, bankin' on New York City, chasin' love and adventure. I found them both, along with madness and an overwhelming grind. I'm filled with a constant nagging dread. This city fuckin' beats me down, man. My body and mind feel dead. Eight million people and I don't got a single friend, like Gil Scott Heron said. I feel an indefinable ache. I have no sanctuary in this twisted state. I found love, but somehow lost myself in this place.
The full moon loomed over the rooftops of Brooklyn as the psychic and I sat in the sweltering darkened stairway of her building near the entrance to the subway. A candle burned next to a deck of tarot cards on the small table that stood between us. She peered into me with soft green eyes surrounded by smooth brown skin. Sweat traced the black of her hairline. The gold cross around her neck glinted with the flickering light. "You like this place sometimes, but mostly you're confused," she said, smiling as a cop's radio squawked on the sidewalk outside the door amidst the people. She stopped to listen, then continued, "It's too much for you here. You get lost in the shuffle." The sweat dripped down the side of my face and beaded on my arms. "You need to leave. Part of you is dead here." A glass breaking sounded on the street. "You'll be more alive someplace else. You need to be somewhere calm. I see Seattle." Her eyes closed as though she was meditating, opened, then searched me again as drunken laughter sounded from Bedford Ave and the drinking drunken crowds. "Someplace like that suits you. You got off track coming here. You'll get back on it once you leave. I'd leave as soon as possible if I were you. I see you surrounded by green. You're life is waiting for you."
The days and the nights have run together. I tried to make it work here. But it just doesn't feel like home. Lost, searching, twisting, turning, sweatin' out the demons and the hate. I feel like I'm stuck in bad still frame, a snapshot of a person who I don't recognize anymore. Like a bad dream that I can't wake myself from. My center is out there, somewhere. It seems it's my destiny to roam. I'm not done lookin'. I'm not done with love.
This ain't no place to fall behind
Pickup crazy heart and give it one more try
This ain't no place for the weary kind
Peace
This ain't no place for the weary kind
This ain't no place to lose your mind
This ain't no place to fall behind
I rolled the dice comin' to this town. I felt like I had nothin' to lose. So I sold everything and climbed on the plane with anxiety, hope and apprehension racing through my veins. I left Austin with my heart on the loose, bankin' on New York City, chasin' love and adventure. I found them both, along with madness and an overwhelming grind. I'm filled with a constant nagging dread. This city fuckin' beats me down, man. My body and mind feel dead. Eight million people and I don't got a single friend, like Gil Scott Heron said. I feel an indefinable ache. I have no sanctuary in this twisted state. I found love, but somehow lost myself in this place.
The full moon loomed over the rooftops of Brooklyn as the psychic and I sat in the sweltering darkened stairway of her building near the entrance to the subway. A candle burned next to a deck of tarot cards on the small table that stood between us. She peered into me with soft green eyes surrounded by smooth brown skin. Sweat traced the black of her hairline. The gold cross around her neck glinted with the flickering light. "You like this place sometimes, but mostly you're confused," she said, smiling as a cop's radio squawked on the sidewalk outside the door amidst the people. She stopped to listen, then continued, "It's too much for you here. You get lost in the shuffle." The sweat dripped down the side of my face and beaded on my arms. "You need to leave. Part of you is dead here." A glass breaking sounded on the street. "You'll be more alive someplace else. You need to be somewhere calm. I see Seattle." Her eyes closed as though she was meditating, opened, then searched me again as drunken laughter sounded from Bedford Ave and the drinking drunken crowds. "Someplace like that suits you. You got off track coming here. You'll get back on it once you leave. I'd leave as soon as possible if I were you. I see you surrounded by green. You're life is waiting for you."
The days and the nights have run together. I tried to make it work here. But it just doesn't feel like home. Lost, searching, twisting, turning, sweatin' out the demons and the hate. I feel like I'm stuck in bad still frame, a snapshot of a person who I don't recognize anymore. Like a bad dream that I can't wake myself from. My center is out there, somewhere. It seems it's my destiny to roam. I'm not done lookin'. I'm not done with love.
This ain't no place to fall behind
Pickup crazy heart and give it one more try
This ain't no place for the weary kind
Peace
Friday, 23 July 2010
Devil's Advocate
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
"You know, that story you told me last night of that friend of yours who you thought was possessed reminds me of that movie, THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE. You know, that one where Keanu Reeves starts seeing the demons in people's faces," a guy I work with said as we stood in the shadows of the darkened lobby of the hotel where we worked.
"Yeah, that guy was possessd. I have no doubt about it. He was speaking in a dead language, in tongues. They're all around us in this fuckin' place too. Look at em'. We're surrounded. I see em'. This place is a carnival of greed, lust, vanity. Jesus, it gives me the fuckin' creeps."
My buddy showed up the next day from Oklahoma. He appeared in the swarming sea of people in Penn Station.
"Shit it's hot down here," he said as we descended into steaming subway. A train ground to a halt in front of us. The doors opened and we piled in. "This place is the devil's town man," I said as we sat down in the somber lifeless train, "Look at everyone. They look they're on fuckin' train to hell." He looked at them, then at me as though trying to decide if I'd gone crazy.
"You're losing it buddy," he said as we ate lunch at a cafe around the corner from my apartment in Williamsburg, sweat beading on our skin. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I'm seein' the truth." "Maybe, buddy. Then I guess if there's a devil, then there's a God too. You think God's talkin' to ya?" "Exactly. I'm seein' the signs, man. But it only happens when I'm sober, if I'm payin' attention, seeking. See, when I first got up here I was drinkin'. I was occluded." "Did you just say occluded?" "Yeah. And now that I'm sober I feel like I'm seeing things for what they are again." "Yeah, you're losin' it." "No. I'm seein' the fuckin' truth, man." "Okay. So then, you're sayin' this city is hell." "Maybe. A type of hell, I guess. And that's why I can't drink anymore. Because it keeps me occluded, lost in the darkness, headed for hell man! Fuck that place. I had a glimpse of it the other day when I was in the dry sauna at the gym. It just flashed through my mind that that was what hell was like, eternally burning hot. Thirst without water. Jesus, I got outta there quick. It shook me up." "Alright then," he said laughing, "Maybe you needa get outta here then." "Yeah, I've thought about it. Marfa, Texas. If it presents itself. For now this is where I'm supposed to be for some reason." "Marfa is God's country huh?" "Maybe?"
I put my sunglasses on as we exited the cafe into the sun. The top of an ad painted on the side of a six story building ahead read, 'Hell is waiting.' The rest of the ad was obscured by another building. "You see," I said pointing up the sign? "That's the kind of shit I'm talking about!" We stopped on the corner. People passed oblivious to us. He looked up at the ad and laughed. "Don't you think that's a little strange," I asked? "Yeah, sort of." "To me, that means Hell is waiting if I keep drinking and stay in the darkness." "That's up for interpretation." "Sure, but the point is that's how I feel that sign just spoke tome to let me know that what I was just talking about with you was real. Faith's a personal thing, man." "Alright. I'll give ya that. So you're not drinkin'." The sun beat down on us. "You've heard that saying, that the true believer's will see the signs," I asked? "Yeah." "Well I believe, and I'm seein' the signs." "It's an ad!" He said laughing. "Yeah, but it's also a sign!" He laughed again. "You know I think that's how God communicates. I mean, if He just appeared when you asked for a sign, it'd be too easy to believe. There'd be no faith involved." "Okay. Makes sense." "So, I think that's how He reveals Himself to believers if they're consciously seeking, is through the signs that are all around us. Most of the time signs are simply background noise and nothing more. But if you're seeking, asking to be shown the way, then you look up and a sign is speaking to whatever you're struggling with, then I think that's God revealing Himself. I mean, what better way! We're inundated with the fucking things. You see?" "I guess. I think this city might've cracked you though too."
The next day I took him to see the hotel where I work. "That place is creepy," he said afterward on the stained sidewalk in the balmy heat walking toward the subway, "It reminds me of that movie THE DEVILS ADVOCATE."
Peace
That's like the coolest fuckin' thing I've ever read in my life
"You know, that story you told me last night of that friend of yours who you thought was possessed reminds me of that movie, THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE. You know, that one where Keanu Reeves starts seeing the demons in people's faces," a guy I work with said as we stood in the shadows of the darkened lobby of the hotel where we worked.
"Yeah, that guy was possessd. I have no doubt about it. He was speaking in a dead language, in tongues. They're all around us in this fuckin' place too. Look at em'. We're surrounded. I see em'. This place is a carnival of greed, lust, vanity. Jesus, it gives me the fuckin' creeps."
My buddy showed up the next day from Oklahoma. He appeared in the swarming sea of people in Penn Station.
"Shit it's hot down here," he said as we descended into steaming subway. A train ground to a halt in front of us. The doors opened and we piled in. "This place is the devil's town man," I said as we sat down in the somber lifeless train, "Look at everyone. They look they're on fuckin' train to hell." He looked at them, then at me as though trying to decide if I'd gone crazy.
"You're losing it buddy," he said as we ate lunch at a cafe around the corner from my apartment in Williamsburg, sweat beading on our skin. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I'm seein' the truth." "Maybe, buddy. Then I guess if there's a devil, then there's a God too. You think God's talkin' to ya?" "Exactly. I'm seein' the signs, man. But it only happens when I'm sober, if I'm payin' attention, seeking. See, when I first got up here I was drinkin'. I was occluded." "Did you just say occluded?" "Yeah. And now that I'm sober I feel like I'm seeing things for what they are again." "Yeah, you're losin' it." "No. I'm seein' the fuckin' truth, man." "Okay. So then, you're sayin' this city is hell." "Maybe. A type of hell, I guess. And that's why I can't drink anymore. Because it keeps me occluded, lost in the darkness, headed for hell man! Fuck that place. I had a glimpse of it the other day when I was in the dry sauna at the gym. It just flashed through my mind that that was what hell was like, eternally burning hot. Thirst without water. Jesus, I got outta there quick. It shook me up." "Alright then," he said laughing, "Maybe you needa get outta here then." "Yeah, I've thought about it. Marfa, Texas. If it presents itself. For now this is where I'm supposed to be for some reason." "Marfa is God's country huh?" "Maybe?"
I put my sunglasses on as we exited the cafe into the sun. The top of an ad painted on the side of a six story building ahead read, 'Hell is waiting.' The rest of the ad was obscured by another building. "You see," I said pointing up the sign? "That's the kind of shit I'm talking about!" We stopped on the corner. People passed oblivious to us. He looked up at the ad and laughed. "Don't you think that's a little strange," I asked? "Yeah, sort of." "To me, that means Hell is waiting if I keep drinking and stay in the darkness." "That's up for interpretation." "Sure, but the point is that's how I feel that sign just spoke tome to let me know that what I was just talking about with you was real. Faith's a personal thing, man." "Alright. I'll give ya that. So you're not drinkin'." The sun beat down on us. "You've heard that saying, that the true believer's will see the signs," I asked? "Yeah." "Well I believe, and I'm seein' the signs." "It's an ad!" He said laughing. "Yeah, but it's also a sign!" He laughed again. "You know I think that's how God communicates. I mean, if He just appeared when you asked for a sign, it'd be too easy to believe. There'd be no faith involved." "Okay. Makes sense." "So, I think that's how He reveals Himself to believers if they're consciously seeking, is through the signs that are all around us. Most of the time signs are simply background noise and nothing more. But if you're seeking, asking to be shown the way, then you look up and a sign is speaking to whatever you're struggling with, then I think that's God revealing Himself. I mean, what better way! We're inundated with the fucking things. You see?" "I guess. I think this city might've cracked you though too."
The next day I took him to see the hotel where I work. "That place is creepy," he said afterward on the stained sidewalk in the balmy heat walking toward the subway, "It reminds me of that movie THE DEVILS ADVOCATE."
Peace
That's like the coolest fuckin' thing I've ever read in my life
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