Wednesday September 26 2012

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In and out of a harsh sleep for 3 or 4 hours – sitting up – having to reposition myself multiple times. The bus arrives in the middle of Manhattan bright and early in the morning. It’s 6:30 a.m. Not my happy hour. While waiting in the subway I scrounge down two Hard-Boiled Eggs that I packed along with a water bottle full of Orange Juice. Taking the L train to this guy Nathan’s place in Queens; I know him through Anthony and his band played a show at my house.

Walking up to the corner of Norman and Seneca I hear a familiar hey from the other side of the street. There she is, my little Russian doll. Adorned in some black and white Western style shawl with black and white patterned tights. A beautiful portrait. We lock arms immediately in a much-anticipated embrace.

I smile big and comment, “Look at you...I missed you.”

Inside Nathan’s railroad style apartment. Alicia, a former couch surfer I hosted maybe a year ago, settles us in. Ays and I cuddle on the couch just relaxing for a little bit before we venture out into the city. She gazes at me adoringly and says to me, “The sweetest thing in the world...when I’m with you everything works.” I love the way she explains things, even with her limited knowledge of English.

Out on the streets with Ays, each with our on scooter. Checking out the spots I know. First, that insanely overpriced Junk thrift store on Driggs. Then, to Peter Pan Donuts. It’s a packed little café with stocky young Slovenian girls behind the counter taking everyone’s orders. We sit down on bar stools enjoying our donuts: Old Fashioned Glazed and Cinnamon with Milk.

...

Ays recites an excerpt she memorized while reading James and the Giant Peach in San Francisco, for educational purposes but also she found it had poetic relevance to the situation when she lost so many important things and friends on the west coast.

“We may see a Creature with forty-nine heads

Who lives in the desolate snow,

And whenever he catches a cold (which he dreads)

He has forty-nine noses to blow.

We may see the venomous Pink-Spotted Scrunch

Who can chew up a man with one bite.

It likes to eat five of them roasted for lunch

And eighteen for its supper at night

We may see a Dragon, and nobody knows

That we won't see a Unicorn there.

We may see a terrible Monster with toes

Growing out of the tufts of his hair.

We may see the sweet little Biddy-Bright Hen

So playful, so kind and well-bred;

And such beautiful eggs! You just boil them and then

They explode and they blow off your head.

A Gnu and a Gnocerous surely you'll see

And that gnormous and gnorrible Gnat

Whose sting when it stings you goes in at the knee

And comes out through the top of your hat.

We may even get lost and be frozen by frost.

We may die in an earthquake or tremor.

Or nastier still, we may even be tossed

On the horns of a furious Dilemma.

But who cares! Let us go from this horrible hill!

Let us roll! Let us bowl! Let us plunge!

Let's go rolling and bowling and spinning until

We’re away from old Spiker and Sponge!”

We take the train into Manhattan. While riding up a compact elevator to transfer to another train we experience a strange moment. A burly black man is speaking to himself, “Homeboy is one hundred percent right...” while a tiny timid retarded man keeps his head turned in the opposite direction as if embarrassed by him.

At random unannounced times she’ll softly demand, “Kiss me.” I cherish these little cute moments.

We make our way to the Guggenheim museum. It seems to be a very popular place today. While waiting we notice the price of one adult ticket costs $80. We both recognize how ridiculous it is and how all these people, mostly couples and families, are willing to fork out that much money to see the art here. Fortunately for us we don’t have to pay. Alicia happens to work here and offered to put our names on the list. We climb the stairs and peruse all the exhibits including Rineke Dijkstra’s portraiture from the 90’s and a few paintings by Kandinsky.

...

In the projection room we watch videos of individual teenagers dancing in front of a camera.

 

Without a private place to make love we get inspired to make use of the unisex restrooms. Locking ourselves into the tight space and going at it for a few minutes. Surprisingly we aren’t disturbed by any knocks on the door. An exhilarating feeling shoots down my spine and releases down below.

Me: “Sex in a museum. How many people do you think have done this here?”

...

Sitting on a circular couch looking out the window on the fourth floor I notice an older woman across the street in a loft apartment changing clothes by an open window. She pays no mind to me or the passersby who take advantage of the voyeuristic photo op.  

We settle down at a small table by a fountain in Madison Park sharing Falafels we bought from a food truck. People watching – learning about the strangers by their body gestures and mannerisms.

Finding a Buffalo Exchange but it’s overcrowded. We don’t stay long.

Ays takes notice to my increased stress and uncomfortable mood from being surrounded by people constantly. The hustle and bustle of a city I can deal with especially with my experience delivery driving but the Big City is a different animal than I’m used to. She doesn’t like it when I get “nervous” she says.

Back at the railroad apartment. We relax on the couch from all the walking around. Feeling drowsy – drifting off to sleep for a little bit. Nathan and his roommates, Ryan and Ben, are here hanging out along with their friend Haley. They cook up a meal in the kitchen, some kind of Vegetable Soup. We all partake.

Getting into collaborative discussions about the music community here (or anywhere) and finding a home. We play a bunch of card games including Durak and Bullshit. Hours of entertainment and fun.

...

Things die down and people go to bed. Ays and I lie under a thick blue sleeping bag on the couch and have secret quiet sex. Ryan sleeps nearby and has a quilted blanket for a door so we have to be ultra stealth. In the background we’re privileged to listen to funk Motown jams thumping from his stereo, which becomes our soundtrack.

Sleep shortly after 2 a.m.

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[i] All images by me.