moment

the headlights hit the sidewalk 

as trash and leaves 

are caught in a burst of wind 

it's the moment 

that exact second 

things change 

seasons

outlooks

everything 

the lights turn off 

he walks away 

thunder hits the ground and 

the bartender looks up

the sky turns white 

with lightning against 

lower east side buildings

let's all go home, right? 

he says from behind the bar 

I look out the window

drinking coffee faster

rain draws lines down the sky 

and windows 

people on the sidewalk sprint

someone parallel parks 

a dog's fur is soaked 

I check my bag 

umbrella? yes 

sigh with relief

three cabs honk 

for no apparent reason

I look at the glass

and remember when it was shattered

fixed so fast

thunder shakes the sky

and then it's done

people stroll slowly

I love the changing of the seasons

not sure why

I actually wrote this a while ago, but...

 I remember when I first moved here, every tall building held so much promise. it all sparkled with purity, or so I thought. Now they are just buildings, that contain things, good and bad -- and I have seen the bad. Sometimes I feel NYC has bitch slapped me and it still stings occasionally. Yet, even with the glossy coating gone, I realize I don't love the brick and steel, but I love the potential that it contains, the feeling that hangs in the air that somehow, dreams can come true.

I've had too much caffeine

blurring past

won't let me back

in

when I wrap this new paper

all around

a gift

and here we go

won't look back

no

a tree stretches out roots

grabbing soil like it should

strong grip

like ancient things flowing

right through

my bloodstream

and all the strength of ancestors

brings us to this point

this hesitation

survival

is easy when you live

blue sky swirling

white clouds mix 

easy as lying down

it begins

now

feet sink into grass

into soil like a seed

standing

waiting to grow

always somewhat unpredictable

yet as certain as the seasons

impossible to contain

like the rain

a choice to yell

or hush intentions behind a whisper

to get up 

and leave

or stand still

like plaster

behind tall things

hiding

and I wasn't so sure before

but now I feel the light of morning

sun pierces my eyes

I'm cutting away uneven ties

and tides will bring in

everything they should

and standing back

waiting to see everything

the next day promises to 

bring

vibrant, strong shimmering things

and maybe this won't be

so hard 

after all

even the longest fall

is just a moment before

the wave rises 

again

I will never be a hipster...

It's hard to pinpoint what makes a hipster. Is it the striped shirt? the fedora? The facebook pictures complete with sneers, pretending to bite into friend's heads and nerd glasses? Is it those long sweaters with the "v" necks? Those leather elf shoe mockassin things. Or is it something else?

I have no idea. Maybe it's that attitude that says I'm so unique, I'm such an individual that I am pretentious because I'm trying to pretend to not be pretentious. The person who finds Urban Outfitters to be "artistic" and they probably wear hoodies. 

OK a guy walked in carrying a guitar, sans case. wearing nerd glasses. He talks to a guy in a fedora. A girl who looks exactly like Daria with shorter hair is looking uptight. A black and white plaid flannel shirt is hung on the hook in the corner. The barista guy is high, or just stupid, and wearing a Bob Marley type hat. Now they are both trying to play guitar. A girl just walked in with frizzy hair, that she probably intentionally styled that way, and she hops around snapping and dancing and she looks high, or looks like she's the type to have been high for such a long time that she her self-consciousness portion of her brain has been fried and she now dances whenever she feels like it. 

I guess I don't really belong here, as despite wearing a lot of black, I'm just not hipster. Still, better here than most places on earth. At least it's dark in here with candles and I can sort of sink into the back of the seat which is good. 

I know for a fact that no matter what I wear, I will never look like a hipster. I think it's because I refuse to wear more than one trendy item at a item as it sorta makes me sick. I'm just to old to pretend to want to look like a hippy, and I guess that is what a hipster is. Someone who is old enough to know better than to still be wearing this crap. When you're 35, why the heck are you wearing chuck taylors anyway? And aviators? I mean, come on. But I guess NYC is the land of the peter pans, and I'm not saying I'm not one of them. But I still would never combine so many trends at one time while insisting I am a unique individual who just happens to look exactly like every other hipster in the village. 

A guy just asked if the wireless here is any good. "yes, it's free" I said. I wanted to say it's much better than this guitar lesson we're listening to, but kept my mouth shut. 

It's warm tonight, maybe 55. Which with humidity is lovely and not cold at all.