There are days when I feel incredibly behind everything and everybody around me. Then there are days where it does not really matter. The days when things just develop the way they have to.
And then there are days, or maybe just evenings, when I can not quite manage to dive into the reality of things. I can not see the sentences, I can not even see the words that spell out reality, I see the shapes and colors and they dance in some often strange ways… sometimes rather sad.
Maybe tonight is such an evening? Maybe some part of me somewhere is just injured in some way and so my perception of the world is shifted to the point where even spoken words are as incomprehendable as if they were sung by exotic birds.
It is very humid, or just about as humid as one could expect from an early New York summer day. I am walking towards home and just from time to time cool off in places where I can slowly recharge and maybe adjust my temperature and humidity. But inbetween, inbetween these stops, there is an entire odd rhythm of faces and well dressed bodies, floating in their reality of things. And I might be one of the people they see walking by me, but I do not thing most of them know they do. And it is okay, it is a great thing about New York. It is possible to be in a fully packed train and to just dive into some faked medical condition and achieve privacy. Even mild medical conditions work. And because there is therapy even for the condition of no clear condition… it is very much possible to achieve privacy with gretest ease.
And it is also easy to observe. One has to observe and be aware to at last not bump into others. On days, or evenings when a detachment from the common reality is achieved though, the observations become a bit more detached as well.
Why did the woman walking her dog just a block away from here look like an upside down pink muffin, or a lamp shade with legs?
Why was the perfect businessman on the phone, ordering water, looking at his female companion who looked so incredibly perfectly manufactured. She was the latest model of what she should have been. She was one of about 10 who must have been the same model, seen tonight.
A woman in a small black dress, carrying bags with the Morgan Stanley logo on them, looked also incredibly perfectly bread to somehow be able to carry these heavy branded cloth receptacles. Her legs were like perfect machine parts, carrying her over the dirty sidewalks towards a place she was probably also contacting with the wired cellphone attachment connected to her somehow magically held phone. I was so happy to see a little scratch mark on her calf. It appeared as if she had been bitten by a mosquito perhaps and she scratched the spot. So she had her Achilles heel?…
Why do many women here have to have so perfectly matched clothing and accessories? Why do the men who are with them appear to be just one of the matching accessories? What happened to the idea that some women could be incredible sorceresses, able to connect and connect with people? How did men become mere devices? Apparatuses? Many do not appear to live. They appear to function. They appear to perform certain simple preprogrammed activities.
Portions of human interactions have been converted into an interaction sport, all including the proper team outfits. This is a battle I am looking at here?
Can there be winners? What is their prize? Will they break down in tears once they pass their virtual finish lines? Will they run around the field? Will they be congratulated by their peers? Will there be special coverage? Will they be interviewed by a special reporter who will ask them about the different rounds in their so demanding life? Will they then remove themselves from the ring as champions? Will they then retire with their golden belts and pictures of their championships in the basements of their giant homes, so giant that the outside walls will touch the walls of another champion home, touch, almost?… will they have to live in the basement, so they can make money with the upstairs, rent it out to those who have not yet achieved the suxess?
Where will they all go? What is the heaven that many of these people are trying to crawl into before their star sets?…
Maybe the next few blocks will hold another part of the non-verbal answer to this one… let’s see… (8:45PM Columbus and 76th Street…)