For my first post in a few years--work and graduate school will do that to you--I'll write a thought I had after glimpsing the moon just beyond the lip of my apartment building, looking up from the desolate courtyard.
Something having to do with the futility of looking for stars beyond the immediate presence of our lamps' light.
Something concerning a simultaneous disgust for the city's inability to host the same nightskies plains and forests appreciate and wonder for our ability to harness light, any light, all light, the light the color of sunrise and home.
And a question about how many other New Yorkers ever look up?
How many other New Yorkers miss looking up and seeing something as much as I do?
Here I am
- Some kinda four 'o' clock tragedy
- New York, NY, United States
- I am a writer. I believe all engaging writing is a precious balance between aural and visual aesthetic, emotional and intellectual depth. I am an "intense" young man, and I've yet to find someone willing to contest that claim. I am not rated G, nor is my writing. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter."