Overseens

the summer of the email:

in the future, what happens to the shoeboxes full of handwriting? if i print them out, instead, and fold them up together/rubber band them up, does that make me part of that transitional generation? and: does it make me pathetic to want to do it anyway? i've got high hopes for my want of communication, you know, but so little motivation beyond the keyboard. it's fucking summer, after all.

at least people still write postcards.

There is a new-found flexibility in letting your hair curl.

Yesterday, I came home. It isn't the city, providential shithole, glossysweet intellectual dark chocolate coating with the rotten cherry core. It wasn't that it was suddenly more familiar, because I can only pick out storefronts in a two block radius, not skylines (because the mall outline doesn't count, it's a mall). It wasn't that I belonged more here than there, only that there was relief, somehow. There I was, and finally, here I am.

St. George station, 9pm

A girl got on the train; she was probably about 12 or 13 years old. She was wearing dog tags, and my first thought was: she could totally kick my ass.

Dupont Station, noonish.

1. Someone's drawn a face in the 'O' of the tiles that spell D-U-P-O-N-T, on the northbound platform. It's in red crayon and looks sort of like this --> :/ <-- but rightside-up. I realized today that it's very judgmental, for a smiley.

2. Has anyone ever noticed that the gangster walk looks a lot like a wounded gorilla?

Subway from Y&E, around 7pm.

There was a man standing across the car with a jaw like an oversized dresser drawer. He had a short beard, bristled; like a thick halo of dirt. I think there was a mass of bananayellow scar tissue where his throat should have been. His bones just went jut, the square hinge of a nutcracker's mouth, quasimodo-hump where the curve should be; it scared me, and suddenly everyone was deformed. A woman in solid headtotoe magenta (and there's the horror show) walking with her hip shot out to the right, like it'd been removed and replaced halfway across her ribs. A man with a receeding hairline, maybe, but somehow it was that his forehead was double the size of the rest of his face, because I was looking for something to match the jaw that made me cringe.