the city, feral and fey

the flock of birds circle above our heads as we suspended ourselves in mid-air, our bodies supported by this concrete skeleton hundreds of metres up in the sky. yet we knew clearly, from the gleaming city, from the vague pendular moon peeping through the clouds, that there was so much more space and matter beneath and above us.


the lights of manhattan beckon from across the east river; the unrelenting and inexorable tide of motors repulsing us. we were most comfortable yet, bathed in a soft red glow, apart from the city. still, we understood that the modern city was what we knew, what we are. these bright lights are us. within a city, every light feeds an existence, represents a purpose or mispurpose, and it is all reciprocal - i am just a light to the man across the river. how do we understand this? how do we help others understand it as well?


it is all pretty despairing. but with miles and hannah there, together with timur, i remained pretty grounded. in them is a feeling of home and now i realize home is to be found anywhere. it is meeting a fellow traveller escaping nyc by hiding in saks fifth ave, of all places; it is being 21 and reliving past years with charlie, brown, and his sister ruth; it is dinner parties and cooking in my own kitchen; it is bringing your teammate to a gay bar.


cities rise, buildings are destroyed, people change and things happen. yet tonight, standing with my feet sinking under me, the wind buffeting my face, standing astride, offering myself to the luminous night sky and the tyrannical city, i am alive with my friends, the people i have elected my family, home wherever i want it to be.

The View of Manhattan

The East River flows quietly between Long Island and Manhattan, while a steel drum band plays on a platform at Grand Central. The water is murky, the dirt and grime of the city reflected in the currents. Chewing gum marks on cement; city streets and buildings always messy, untidy, harsh and sticky. the brutal city is scary, rough, and it doesnt give chances. People fall through the cracks, they are down and out, fighting for a life. in singapore, where there is no fight, everything is purposeful and demarcated, there is no room for life's essential messiness. the necessary question then, is what kind of sadness you would trade for another. Would I spurn the sadness of risk and uncertainty to embrace the sadness of unfulfilment and ennui? Tonight I go to midtown again, and when a piss-soaked woman pushes me off my scooter, i will do a little dance and give her a hi-5.

We Are Picking Flowers, You And I

In my dream, I want to bring you flowers, but you are suddenly there, and we pick winter flowers off a tree together. When I wake up, Hannah is beside me and I've a splitting headache. I'm not thinking, so I wake her up and tell her about my dream. A man should not want for more. I'm waking up beside a gorgeous girl, I get to share my dreams with her, we ski for the entire day, Miles and Ryan cook dinner for us, and I am warm after a long day with Jeremy sharing Quaker tales. "Couldnt this be family?" I ask, because for once I feel at home. Perhaps. That moment will last forever, a miraculous coincidence of people, time and place.

Naive Melody

It is Wednesday night and cold outside. It's one in the morning and Jeremy's cleaning his room. Me, I'm lying on his bed and screaming along to Built to Spill. I want specifics on the general idea.

It is Thursday night, Wine and Cheese is over and it seems like Jeremy has got lost in the woods. Ryan is floating above the sky and I'm the sober and responsible one. We decide to sleep outside Jeremy's door in the hallway - yes, because I am sober and responsible and this will bring him back. As we drift off to sleep beside each other, Ryan rambles on on life and love and I listen and we suck in deep breaths. Tonight he is soft and feminine, his eyes are bloodshot, his skin perfect and white. I want to think, this is college, 21, a miraculous coincidence of people and time and place, but I leave it at that, unwilling to bring it beyond what it is. We sleep, hard.

It is Friday night, and Peter and I meet. We hit his friends' first before we come back to WestCo where I show him how Ryan, Jeremy and I play. As the two of us leave for the male revue at Psi U, he asks me a serious question, and I say yes. We walk fast, giggling under our breath, its condensation leading our way. I tackle him hard, he wants to grind down one of the railings when it starts snowing. Later, we lie down beside the street, waiting for the rest of the guys, and he tells me something serious as well (I didnt think I was prepared to know, I didnt think I wanted to know). Another while later, we're sitting on Jacob's bed, and it's just the two of us. I think, this could be the night, but I know I dont want to know, I dont want to think about it. Ain't it strange that I can dream, when there's nothing I have ever seen.

It is Saturday night, and I'm taking off my clothes. But first, to get shitty enough. (On hindsight, I realise though I was wayy off my legs.) When I'm done, I go upstairs to collect my money and the birthday boy is there. Right there, on the landing, was a semester's worth of holding out, right after two nights of Not Thinking. So right there, on the landing, I was shitfaced, and I thought, hell, I thought.. I couldnt think. I couldnt Not Think. Blurry and fast-forward, I am sick over the toilet and I have no idea where my money is. I dont know where is the money I came here for. Wait, I feel sick.

It's Sunday night, and we've baked green penis cookies and a blue cake for Ryan's birthday. We've hit the sugar ceiling so we go to Miles's room to, uh, chat. I'm in Miles's recliner with Ryan. I want to be there for a long time, I tell him about last night, I tell them about last night, I want to sleep. When I wake up, I leave with Ryan. It's icy outside, and I dont think I can get back all right, all I want to do is tell him about the frickin' weekend. I want to tell him that turning 20 doesnt change much. I turned 21 and still make classic mistakes. But I think he knows, he knows what hopeless basketcases we are, he knows how we're still way too juvenile. So it's Wednesday night, I still dont have the money, and kicking myself in the head. Jeremy is eating mac and cheese and I'm screaming along to Built to Spill. Yea you've become, yea, you have become a fraction of the sum, the middle and the front - a song for the naive and the big joke we are - and now it's coming back, hasn't it come too far? I was trying to help but I guess I pushed too hard, and now we can't even touch it, afraid it will fall apart.