New York City – Grave Discourse

Memory flashback. New York City, Summer 2011. Spent a lot of time at Caffe Reggio in the Village, writing strange hallucinations with art thoughts. Notebook ramblings on Eugene Delacroix’s The Death of Sardanapalus. Strangled silk indulgence…pleading pleasure bleeding…one last orgy before I go…Perhaps I should have listened to the traveler’s tale. Words of wisdom are hard to tell. Deciphering sand grains in the desert, the multitudes were gone. Vanquished. Their blood and my skin, haunting whispers, devil wind. I rode back to the palace side, to desecrate my defeated bride. Spirits were high and plenty of drink-soaked salacious souls. Women danced victory with twirling chants of gold. The musicians played. But then leather riders came, preaching of an enemy still untamed. And I, being drunk, the one to blame, felt to ruin this party would be a shame. So I yelled for servants to bring a flame. Ignite this fame! Immortality shall be gained! Death-games for terror’s shouts! Shrieking silence blotted out. Petty protoplasm priestly purified, though not denied, shall see pleasure sanctified…

Then I’d walk back to my shared studio apartment in the Flatiron district where I slept in a bunkbed with a lesbian, though she made it clear it was up to me…she was a kind and gracious host, and if there was more time, who knows…Lauren, I hope you are well. It has been over a decade. The people you meet in life inspire and stay with you, and moving in with someone you don’t know from a craigslist ad is an adventure. One I would gladly do again. But memories shall have to suffice. What a great experience to explore New York City…

How I got to New York.

I recently returned home from a year in Seoul, South Korea.

Freelance journalism and photography, not much else on the horizon. Applied everywhere. All over. Non Stop. Fucking Awful.

Finally got a bite.

NBC. New York City.

I lied and gave my friend’s address. Yeah, I’m here. Ready for an interview whenever.

How bout Thursday?

Sure!

Fuck!

It was Monday.

I checked the price of a plane flight. $500. Same as a fucking million to me at the time.

Reluctantly, I bought a Greyhound ticket for a nice, 24 hour bus ride into the heart of Manhattan for under $100.