NYC Subway, Summer 2006

I quietly sat, watching the middle aged man, aged further than he should have been, play brilliant phrases on his old guitar. The tone was warm and crisp, the nickel and nylon strings rang out in the otherwise sleepy subway car. No piece of music ever lasted more than a few seconds, each as brilliant and beautiful as the last, and as distinct, all phrases containing their own measure of complexity and meter and key and mood and beauty. It then occured to me as I sat, listening, that this and all other things like and unlike it are language. All of it. Music, chess, patterns, meaning, feeling...all language. Some speak longingly and pointlessly. Others speak briefly and brilliantly. some speak like overblown scholars with condescension and monotone. Some speak as schizophrenics, blurting out cries of love and fury which make sense to them and only them because the world surrounding them fails to. Some listen intently, absorbing the wayward flashes of brilliance and genius in the language of their surroundings, taking in as they go, listening hard for language as the lonely train screams through the midnight tunnel on its way to nowhere.
WorldWarYou WorldWarYou
31-35, M
2 Responses Jul 30, 2007

Your ability to express is quite impressive to me. I enjoy writing in great detail however your words are eloquent and mine, so simple.

Pale, old, vericose, housecoat and mardi gras beads. Small ponytail, big glasses, candy and mints in a pill bottle, repititious copious application of bright red lipstick. Small black bag. Mental disease as a form of public entertainment. Half a big toenail. Bloody ooze at the end. Looks like strawberry jelly and milk. Piece of paper with three blue circles held between the eyes so each eye sees one side. Gets up to move away. Big poopstain wedgie.