Layers Of Fog And Undefined Texture

Undefined, blurred and artless. I came here to be defined. I looked to my location to define me. The reality I hadn't considered before coming here is clear to me now. The definition of a person can never come from something so abstract and distant as a city.

What is this city?
A combination of street signs, restaurants, districts?
I can recall it's scents, textures, colors, but how can I define it in words?
A city so new to me, how could I express it with words I've used all my life to voice previous experiences? How can I paint a sky of blue with yellow paint? Undefined, blurred and artless is the state of both the painting and the person.

Water Chesnuts and Cold Potatoes

You know when you eat a water chestnut and it tastes like dirt but in a satisfying way? Well I've been eating metaphorical water chestnuts all week. Recently, jazz has been like that for me. I'm not in the mood to listen but I still listen. Because it's satisfying and it's the only thing I've got.

I think it started tasting like dirt when earlier this week I was listening to a piece and the ending had become predictable, dragged out, melancholy, uninspired and unoriginal. Like cold mashed potatoes with an oily gravy poured over them.

If jazz can be said to be conversational then this conversation was dwindling, contrived and full of words that you say when there's nothing left to say. Just like this entry.

Wind And It's Synonyms

When the winds of change blow you to New York City, they seem to stop there. There is stillness. I had expected these gusts to propel me through my days with force and purpose. The most I feel of this kind is the cacophonous sweep of dust and wind before a subway arrives at the station. It pushes me away and I feel more alive for pushing it back.

The days pass slowly for the most part without importance. This city has no need or want for another to join its flocks. Sometimes you see someone, or talk to someone who is looking to be moved or molded into who they came here to be, and you are thankful.

There's a place in the west village that I visited the first time I came to New York. I went last night for the second time in a week. It is a place for me to remind myself of the dream of New York. Many go to tourist sights like Times Square or The Statue of Liberty to remind themselves of the feeling or of the dream of the feeling of being a New Yorker. This place I like to visit, it's dodgy and crowded. It's a cheap bar/jazz club. This is like an oasis of calm for me and stepping into the dimly lit blue basement is like feeling the gusts in the subway, the wind that blew me here, finally push me forward.