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Corner of E 42nd Street and Park Avenue, July 3, NYC, 2012
Corner of E 42nd Street and Park Avenue, July 3, NYC, 2012
Posted on July 3, 2012
Reaching for a muse whilst on demi pointe; unassailable, unavailable, unattainable, and untouchable. But enough about me. I have a mastered version of Lost for Words that I d0 not leave home without. I play the CD in cabs. In a cafe. In dance studios. In trains. And with friends, as a listening party of three. I send it to people I know and say, “Show me what you hear. Tell me what you mean when you say, “Interesting.”
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palm of my hand into my chest to check for the beats per minute that make a pulse. “But you’re going the wrong way.” “No I’m not”, she says. “This way you get to see which squares are missing when you start to make, what the others told you not to make.” “And what’s that?”, I ask. “What?”, she asks. “What I must not make?” “Why, make a sound of course!” “What if I can’t help it?”, I ask. And she says, “Isn’t that why we’re here?” How could I forget? “Was hast du gesagt?” “Nothing, I was just thinking how easy it is to forget how when you…” And she’s gone. There’s a man coming down the stairs wearing a base-ball cap and holding a black plastic bag that brushes against my left knee as I hear a song of sweet nothings that I whistled in the dark as he staggered after me on crutches, speaking of the heart as a phantom limb. That, I decide, is what I will sing about today whilst we struggle to keep our heads above the water mark as I watch the tide come in over his shoulder.
