Thoughts

New York is one of those tangible anomalies like a glass house or a bar with no liquor license. From a distance, it appears beautiful, perfect, full of color and light. But once inside the light dims, the colors fade, and you realize that perfection probably doesn’t exist at all. And what was beautiful is ugly like a young girl ravaged by time.

Every American with a dream and something to prove to themselves comes to New York. They come to leave behind their former lives of dull brown landscapes, of monotony and small towns, and the slow, sordid life of their mothers and fathers. They come in search of a conquest and a dream; a new beginning, and most find themselves suddenly charging toward old age and personal oblivion in an all consuming rat race. Rats wear many masks, and New York is a place where a naive mid-westerner can be devoured by the bonds of trust. In New York, it’s wise not to trust, no to believe, to remain shut off, and skeptical, while always projecting a positive facade of generosity and openness.

This is the real New York. It is an illusion of harmony, of love, and happiness. Yet, often, when my worn, bruised soul traverses the streets in a clean, pretty body, adorned with bangles and bracelets and stacked heals on my feet... I wonder if the entire city is as miserable as I.

copyright 2009