stories

timing

At Calumet a salesmen was telling a story about growing up in NYC in the 70's. He lived in Bed Stuy, and all the peeps in his neighborhood were terrified to come to Park Slope. He agreed to take out a girl who lived in the Bronx even though he was terrified to go there, because in the 70's everyone who lived in NYC was terrified to go anywhere else in NYC, I guess. It was all Serpico and American Gangster. Standing in front of her apartment building in the Bronx, he put his had up as if to scratch his ear and wound up catching a snowball some neighborhood boys threw at him, scaring them off with his acumen.

Talked to the dad of a friend of Sophie's. I didn't realize he'd been laid off, but he was riding high, since then he'd gotten two job offers from companies he'd worked with. When we spoke, I had the feeling he was in his pajamas.

Kristen was telling me about someone named Peter Goldbeck, a healer type who she feels helps her find the guidance she's looking for. His metaphysical gifts developed after an accident, he was playing the guitar in his house in Queens when it got struck by lighting, seriously shocking him and his grandmother. And that's when he started to hear voices.

neighbors

I didn't sleep well last night because of this cold that tickles my throat all night long. The gagging reflex it creates woke me up during many pleasant dreams about old boyfriends. In the dream I woke up to, I wound up talking on the phone to an old boyfriend I'd long lost track of. A protective male voice broke in trying to make sure I was worthy of the connection, and David Lion says, It's OK, it's Amy. Strange to hear David's voice so clearly on the line because I had been expecting a different boyfriend to pick up.

At work, J told me of her dream which took place in her apartment on 15th St. There was suddenly a mysterious opening connecting her and her neighbor's apartments.

Tonight my daughter mistakenly called one of my friends and spoke to her as if she were the babysitter. She said, "We have to go and get bla bla bla and also you can you please cook the twisty macaroni and cheese" before my friend commented "Do you know who you're talking to?" I watched worlds collide.

spots

Coming home on the A train I noticed that the muddy impressions of people's boots on the reddish flooring looked like the wings of turtle doves, whose spotty feathers affect my brain in the same way as Yayoi Kusama's installations, the marks on the Lady Crab's shell, and Vuillard's vibrating brush strokes. It is visual happiness, tremoring, feather by feather, cell by cell, stroke by stroke.