mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

  • Mood:
  • Music:

notebook paper.

the dry, almondy taste of wanting someone (as opposed to having someone, a proposition i've always prefered) drifts up from the first few pages of the houellebecq book. i'm sitting, waiting for a tardy 2 train, soaking in the tang of it, my skin flaking away like the leaf wrapper of a good cigar. finally the two shows up & i walk briskly down to the end of the platform, sticking my finger inbetween the pages to mark the spot i'm at. earlier, i heard shouts & screams from down the tunnel, brooklynward. i couldn't tell if they were real or imagined, & no one else in the station reacted one way or the other. before i get into the train-car, i peek down the side of the gaping passage, wondering if i can see anything to clear up these lingering doubts one way or another. i start thinking about the hidden marble cemetary, discovered last night thanks to the fickle vagaries of the weekend subway schedule. another urban stonehenge, throbbing only a little less strongly than the bog troll in prospect park. but it was night then, & magic always works better at night (an unarguable fact). at franklin avenue, a woman with a wheeled tote bag climbs up the service stairs out of the inky tunnel, comes out of the dark, stumbling over the tread-dots of the yellow-stripe safety line.

a few people in the train are shouting about david copperfield, weirdly synchonized with sarah's visit. one of the guys, a thuggish hispanic guy, arm crawling with tattoos (i decided he is latin yakuza, for fun), can't remember david blaine's name, so i supply it for him. they get off at sterling street. at this point, i start losing focus, losing linear narrative. i'm thinking about how i bought my thiry-day unlimited ride metrocard with transit checks this morning. about the guy across from me's inexplicable mickey mouse nascar jacket. a woman carrying a bag of chocolates is reading about the pope's death in an old daily news, & i start laughing about it. my hand starts to cramp up from writing & i start thinking about lactic acid & electron transport, & how i'm neglecting reading my book. suddenly i'm remembering the unpleasent smell of cigarette smoke & fish from yesterday's chinatown adventures. goblintown adventures, my eyes seeing overlay on the close streets. after a few moments i look up, suddenly. nothing has happened, but there is a new shadow on the brushed steel of the doors, a figure in a robe of seaweed & tentacles. a head like two entwined manta-rays. a rorschach angel of deep places. he wasn't there a second ago. the train fits & starts, like always, epilepticly braking into the brooklyn college/flatbush avenue station.

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.