(no subject)

This is really a "note to self" kind of post. I have far, far too many stories in progress. And yesterday evening I was bit by an Alias plotbunny and have already started writing that. I need to prioritize or nothing will ever be finished, which would be pathetic.

(no subject)

...it was New York, the dream-site
the lost city the city of dreadful light...
from Adrienne Rich, An Atlas of the Difficult World VII

I had dinner up around 125th street and took a patchwork journey home, by taxi, down Broadway to 96th and then through the Park, down 5th past all the museums, to Park Avenue and through that Grand Central Station overpass/underpass, and on down south. A jag over to Gramercy Park, and straight down second to the East Village. And it was all the ridiculous majesty of this feat of engineering, this wonder of the modern world, from the grand scale of the skyscrapers to the trash piled on the corners, the clean modern lines and the carved eccentricities of the nineteenth century, brownstones and parks and apartments and wasteland. How I will miss this place, all of the glory and insanity in it, all the pain and delight of the world in these few miles.