Flying, solo.
One of the most difficult things about this journey to a new life in Brooklyn has been in doing it alone. All of the major geographical moves in my life have been with associates, partners in adventure and struggle. This time circumstances were such that decisions had to be made solo, and quickly. I threw two-thirds of my belongings overboard, and swiftly I was off and running towards this destination, by myself; to a place I knew very few people.
There are moments of pure joy and exhilaration in doing things alone. Some of my recent bike rides have been that. And there are moments of sadness, loneliness, the desire for Another to share the experience with, and the need for touch. Both have been intense intersecting daily occurrences since I arrived just over two weeks ago. (An excellent article on urban lonliness, here.)
I went to two parties yesterday.
The first was a birthday party. In one room two men heatedly, un-distractedly, networked investment banking connections, while the door near them was open and some others were enjoying group sex. I did not indulge in either on this particular night, but did have some pleasant, real, sharing conversations with a few people. [I am quite shy. My brain overloads with observations, consciousness - of self and all kinds of larger social and philosophical paradigms - and as a result my conversations are usually with people who are more assertive, who can jump in to get the ball rolling outside my thought traffic. Once it's rolling I can play well, crawl out of myself, and toss it back and forth.]
As happens quite often, amidst the party I was suddenly very aware of the enormity of the city, the sense that this small gathering of people was occurring in one of millions of apartments in all directions - a hypnotic overwhelming image of the the endless human connections going on in all the lit windows of all the buildings out there this night - flickers of light, flickers of life.
There are moments of pure joy and exhilaration in doing things alone. Some of my recent bike rides have been that. And there are moments of sadness, loneliness, the desire for Another to share the experience with, and the need for touch. Both have been intense intersecting daily occurrences since I arrived just over two weeks ago. (An excellent article on urban lonliness, here.)
I went to two parties yesterday.
The first was a birthday party. In one room two men heatedly, un-distractedly, networked investment banking connections, while the door near them was open and some others were enjoying group sex. I did not indulge in either on this particular night, but did have some pleasant, real, sharing conversations with a few people. [I am quite shy. My brain overloads with observations, consciousness - of self and all kinds of larger social and philosophical paradigms - and as a result my conversations are usually with people who are more assertive, who can jump in to get the ball rolling outside my thought traffic. Once it's rolling I can play well, crawl out of myself, and toss it back and forth.]
As happens quite often, amidst the party I was suddenly very aware of the enormity of the city, the sense that this small gathering of people was occurring in one of millions of apartments in all directions - a hypnotic overwhelming image of the the endless human connections going on in all the lit windows of all the buildings out there this night - flickers of light, flickers of life.
At one thirty I left the party on the Upper West Side and took a subway to 42nd Street. The other party was an event called Compressor, put on by the Disorient art collective/ Burning Man theme camp. I had helped some folks unload a truck last week and was gifted a comp admission.
An hour an a half waiting outside - sharing some delightful camaraderie - in response to some police issue regarding building permissions which necessitated about twenty police offers to stand around dismally expressing Authority (I will save the rant about the police for another time).
Once inside it was quite amazing - multiple floors with various rooms pulsing with a variety of dance music, rooms exotically decorated, and a wonderful band that included electronics, saxophone, drums and other percussion, and a digital projected show. Being this was a Burning Man related event, the costumes of many of the participants were also quite extraordinary. (I was not in a photographing mood.) Just walked around for a couple hours enjoying the spectacle and beats - too aware perhaps, alas, at times, that the vast majority of the people there were under 35 or 40.
An hour an a half waiting outside - sharing some delightful camaraderie - in response to some police issue regarding building permissions which necessitated about twenty police offers to stand around dismally expressing Authority (I will save the rant about the police for another time).
Once inside it was quite amazing - multiple floors with various rooms pulsing with a variety of dance music, rooms exotically decorated, and a wonderful band that included electronics, saxophone, drums and other percussion, and a digital projected show. Being this was a Burning Man related event, the costumes of many of the participants were also quite extraordinary. (I was not in a photographing mood.) Just walked around for a couple hours enjoying the spectacle and beats - too aware perhaps, alas, at times, that the vast majority of the people there were under 35 or 40.
Then I walked twenty-some blocks to 14th street - and took the subways home.I arrived back in Brooklyn at a few minutes before six a.m.. The sun was rising, reflecting golden orange off the glass of the Williamsburgh Bank building. It had probably been at Burning Man last year that I last stayed up until the sun rose. Home alone and time for some serious sleep and dreams.
Click on images to enlarge.
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