I’ve finished a short run around the periphery of downtown Brooklyn.
When I purchased these shoes I imagined they would blend in so beautifully, turn a part of me into the concrete sidewalk itself, somehow enhance my capabilities in an elementalist manner — There is also an oracle nature to the act of running in a city with many stop lights, praying you’ll get a green so the flow can continue. Eventually I came to realized that when I ran, I essentially prayed.
I am grabbing a coffee after the run and see students orbiting a door draped in graduation cloaks, I’m instantly taken back to a moment when I was attending school, reading the Wikipedia entry for Academic Dress.
The young men wore navy and the young women wore gold, I wondered about the symbolism of this.
There are two bronze blades of fire held aloft by a thorny helix in front of the court house on Tillary Street, I wondered about the symbolism of this too.
Last night I told my mother straight up that I was too young to appreciate my home town, the memories she had gifted me and my sister, the hard work she’d put in for me. I told her I appreciated it. I hope my expression of this was as meaningful for her as it was for me. Even as I write this, after running, in a debased form through my phone, I could feel tears welling up, but that moment has passed as I’ve written this.
That faint residue of intent that graces all things people have produced - it’s a recently settled film of dust in a recently cleaned home.
There are so many buildings with scaffolding around here
I am walking to a poké place, grabbing an early dinner for Jenny and I, I encounter a handful of characters wearing muted clothing along the way.
A woman holding a single leaf is scanning the street with her phone
I’m walking back home from a run out and feeling that writing is letting thoughts settle as particulate settles in water and builds up and up and up…
On reflection, it’s the complete opposite of work I’m most involved in presently, which amounts to taking a whole and reducing it. In my mind’s eye I can visualize the end result, but while writing, one of the more terrifying elements of the process is that I can’t foresee how thoughts accumulate, or where the river will be diverted so to speak.
Ten or so years ago I had an idea for a project that amounted to taking precise scans/measurements of the utilities/access grating that decorates New York’s streets and weaving rugs with these objects precise qualities. I found it amusing to decorate a home with objects like this. I’m wondering where I can find a loom