Blowin' in the Wind

So I just made this collage from my cell phone pics...I don't have Photoshop so I made it with Paint...that's why it looks a little sketchy...sorry...

Some of the buskers here are students from the Julliard School, some have played in the Carnegie Hall, while some (or for the most part) are just scrambling for their rent. I used to try to record the music that I heard in the subway, but every now and then the music was inundated by the shrills and rumbles of the train, or simply the bustles of travelers helter-skeltering through the mezzanine.

Thomas likes to brag about how the buskers in London or other big cities in Europe play mostly classical music, while in New York sometimes you can hardly tell the name of an instrument. I guess the subway is the best way to learn about the city, both geographically and ethnographically - you get to listen to live ethnic music and step on ethnic toes (politically incorrect!? i dont care). It is not until when I got to Chicago did I realize how diversity has been taken for granted in New York...not until on the CTA train when a semi-sober-white-college-student-looking guy greeted Thomas and I with "Welcome to the United States!"...Alas, I guess I am already too jaded to live here!

Well I admit that I've been lazy...and haven't written anything in decades. So here's a poem I wrote on occasion of seeing a friend's photos from Poland. I was reminded of the Holocaust and a poem by Plath name "Daddy".

I was blinded by the magnesium flash.
Back with your SLR I see the old town
washed over with acids and gases –
You seemed to have found your niche
in the chamber.
Music is like wires stretched between poles.
Your subject is people –
The dictator is dictating –

His dictation. They shrunk to fit in your little chamber,
background blurred with different shades of blue;
And yet light is delight. Amplified is your red hue;
These are true. Ach, du.
Tetragrammaton on his back, like a penance
Etched onto the square monument.
Swaggering pigeon, screeching alligator,
And girls in uniforms –
Second from the right, her hazelnut hair gives

Depth to her figure, deeper than the depth of their skirts
And the navy of her blue.
Dwindling is the candle, floating is the hexagram,
The red flesh is raw. Grey out the ghetto wall.

YouTube - Riverdance at the Special Olympics
  

谢谢关心……还好……只是我忽然觉得没什么动力准备考法学院…

一封回复朋友的短信，看过发现竟然道出了很多最最真实的内心的声音。
贴在这里，让每个关心我的朋友都能了解我。
生日意外的收到了许多的祝福
真的很意外。
令我惭愧的是，所有祝福我生日快乐的人，我几乎都很少记得他们的生日。有两个甚至是我几年都没有联系过的老朋友，虽然在我心中我时时也会想起你们。

只是，我不会表达感情。

也许是借口。
也许我这人忘性大？也许这些都不是理由。反省自己是不是一个不在乎朋友的人，反省自己是不是总是留恋孤独的自由。可那是真正的自由么？我不知道。

我想我只是自私和任性。需要的时候就紧紧抓住不肯放手，不需要的时候就轻易地抛开。
真是个差劲的家伙。

生日和爸爸妈妈一起过的
蛋糕，蜡烛，还有西瓜和樱桃（在中国的话一定是荔枝）
似乎又回到了小时候
纽约的夏天可能没有武汉那样的焦躁不安
但是……还是……一切照旧

少了的是那种企盼的心情
并不是盼望蛋糕或者礼物，而是单纯的想要长大
数着年月 幼儿园，小学，中学，高中，大学
什么时候开始装作不再乎了？
什么时候开始真的不在乎了？
什么时候总是说，以后，将来？
什么时候又开始总是说，以前，曾经？

不管怎么样，今年22了
感觉20以后就有点数不清楚了
活了大概1/3 或1/4的光阴
每当这个时候我总是在想自己有没有虚度