Could the New Year have a stranger beginning?
N. is assaulted, brutally, in the East Village. While she seems calm and says she is ok, her dark eyes betray her. It is important to believe that it is ok, for her at least; for her friends, it is important to know that she is not ok. How could one be? And she loses her apartment too. So I can't sleep at night, feeling her lack of balance.
The staggering destruction of the tsunami wakes me out of my numbed state and I become more energetic in my work. New music, two new paintings, and writing every day. As long as this energy lasts, I feel like I have a purpose. I will be more giving to my students, and less impatient with their wanderings.
I am reading THE BOOK OF SALT. Such beauty in the words, such sadness that I can taste. Language is the elusive bond that links all the characters. How we need it, yet how it fails us; how we think we make connections because of it, yet we can never know if those connections can bear any weight. What do my words mean to someone else?
About Me
- madabandon
- Brooklyn, New York, United States
- a musician/artist living in brooklyn with two l gray cats and an super-cute dog, writing about the trivial and the not-so-trivial, often sleep-deprived and benignly neurotic.
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