Double Exposure

So, on the LIRR (again and again and again) and I'm glad that the chaos of the past few days if finally growing somewhat calmer... And this weekend riding horses through autumn.

Today I got my hair cut and the guy cut off way too much.

But why, after all of this (freedom?) carelessness do I feel the clench again?!? Is it because I am going home? (Hello Jekyll!)

Last night we drove back from Brooklyn over the Manhattan Bridge and the skyline was so beautiful-- like the glowing eyes of spirits in blue and gold and purple.

A Rangers game must have just gotten out because this train is really crowded and half of the people are in jerseys.

I hope that it's not weird with AIR7 and Scheisser this weekend... It's weird that I haven't been home since Rosh Hashanah. (I'm burning in the shadows. I'm freezing in the sun.)

Once again, the orange stripes of night stain the ghostly sketches of life in this car and the blackness in my eyes flashes wildly, framed by the stained industrial yellow of these "caution lines." My hair holds golden drops of light, the empty windows of Hopper's heart until the lamps burn like glitter under a flame, melting in and out of their ebony surroundings, into my mouth and through my cheeks... Tiny glowing flames, suspended in mid-air... the teardrops of Saints. (The man was a hero!)

But this city is dead and not a single silhouette strikes my forehead. There are only the lifeless crowded ones floating in my own space, feeling the city as fast as the hum can carry us.

And the stretched black of the sky seems to have endless depth and I Feel as if I am dipping my arm into an endless glove, never to feel my fingers slide into their place, never to press the seams.

The car blurs and the double exposure of all this is like the center of a burn and the most delicious.

Flushing Main street.