These Are Scenes From The City
"What we choose to ignore is as important as what we choose to see." I don't remember when or where or even if I ever heard these words. Sometimes I feel that whatever I write is a juxtaposition of words, phrases, sentences that I have read or heard or said. It is as if these words, drawn from memory, are suspended in space, and they reappear, the same words, in different contexts, over and over again, so even though they feel new when they roll off my tongue, I can never really shake the feeling of familiarity, of having known them someplace, sometime.
Anyway, I digress, For this week's exercise I chose to focus on a part of my day that seldom contributes anything meaningful to my life- the time I spend in-transit. I realized that I am never emotionally or mentally present through the passage of space and time. Whatever I made this week was on the subway, all the pictures taken either during the ride or while walking. There wasn't a specific theme that I started with and the only rule I laid out for myself was to not be over-critical of what I was making.
A pink bus and a trash can
there are corners of
the streets
the subways
the city
where you dwell, but don't linger
where you occupy space
but that occupation is fleeting
and that memory unwelcome
places that should feel familiar
should arouse that sweet swell of nostalgia
but nostalgia is only lent by hindsight
so for the moment
you keep your head down
and your strides long
and keep walking
Person on the subway
the people we seem to be
don't exist
the reality obscured
all the jagged edges neatly blunted /
don't exist
embrace your flaws
all the jagged edges neatly blunted?
glue them back on /
embrace your flaws
even the ones you've outgrown
glue them back on
"you aren't the same person anymore!" /
the ones you've outgrown
tell them you don't need them
you aren't the same person anymore
exist
A clear sky and a source of light
the light filters in through the window
you orient yourself
drawn to the sun
like a moth to the flame
you orient yourself
silently turn to face her
like a moth to the flame
keeping vigil over the dead
silently turn to face her
tears are streaming down her face
keeping vigil over the dead
has never been easy