obsessed with old gay porno movies. 51 yr-old dirty old man, give me more porn!
Wednesday, February 13, 2002
....a few weeks ago, on an unusually warm January night...
crossing over the FDR Drive, briefly looking down at the late-night traffic, Bjork's Frosti segues into Aurora. Gosh, this was the song, as sweet as it is, that always made me cry; somehow, it's rawness, each syllable overly enunciated, always made me sing along, and tonight is no exception. But now I am alone, riding my bike thru potholes and puddles along the empty East Side park after 2 a.m., and my voice is loud and unencumbered, happy-tears streaming, as they wish, down my cheek, while I imagine I am in Iceland, seeing a "mountain shade", snow, etc. I hadn't planned it, but once I'm here, I decide to keep going south, along the East River, glad it's empty, and not too cold. Once I'm actually under the Drive, and the music has changed to An Echo, A Stain it magically matches the mood. The creekiness of the song, little blips and crackles are accentuated by the sounds of water lapping against the dirty shore, trucks above shooshing by, as I get near South Street Seaport. Last time I was down here, months back, another late night ride, grey dust covered everything, and as I got further down, saw more emergency vehicles, and uniformed men. Tonight, suddenly I am surrounded by workers; fork lifts carrying white boxes of frozen fish, dozens of guys moving hurredly by, me barely navigating out of their way and around the potholes. A few blocks later, it's empty again. As I seem to be nearing the bottom of the island, the wind picks up, and I wish I had remembered gloves. I won't go thru each song that accompanied each moment downtown, eyeing from a distance the still bright lights working hard; rescue trucks, cops and firefighter types replaced by "regular joes" - phone repair guys, cable trucks, garbagemen. And the huge gaping hole in the sky, and a sign that seems to point to the "viewing platform". I have mixed feelings about that (like most things). Yeah, folks are gonna come, and yeah, we need it to be orderly so these folks can actually continue their work. I do, however, feel quite strongly that NO politician should be allowed anywhere near it if they are gonna get their picture taken. Figure out a different way to get your crooked, lousy stupid ideas sold to the public, and funded by our tax-dollars. Try using some words, some ideas. FUCK them! ......... and, thankfully, my mind trails off again, and the next song clicks on, and I continue pedaling, disoriented, but knowing this will sorta take me to the West Side Hwy eventually. I stop at another corner, another perspective, odd and eerie, the amount of open space before my eyes in this dense part of town. The whispered lyrics in my ears take on new meaning once again, and the first few syllables of Unison awaken me enough to know I should move on. This is the song that makes my heart soar, for some reason. This is where I speed up, and stand tall on my bike, as if I am on some deserted country road, heading for the ocean, for a cliff; I pedal faster and faster, and yeah, i sing along. Those angelic backing vocals and strings - so reassuring and comforting - as I race along the deserted streets, picturing a big blue sky, and deep dark ocean ahead, on my way to some sort of Evil Knievel superfast jump off that cliff, not caring who or what might catch me, but knowing, somehow, I have to make that leap; not knowing what it is, really, just wanting to trust myself that it'll be ok.