hey you...I just posted something I wrote a few months ago. you've got to go back a couple posts...its called "A Crazy Coincidence".

Post Traumatic NYC Disorder

Soul-sapping city, that New York. The fact that I'm running a little below E on my Living Essense-o-meter can't be blamed entirely on The Big Apple. Sure, being tightly packed among so many unhappy people made me feel more like a rat in a race or an ant on a hill than a human being; but there's no denying that we manufacture our own reality, our own happiness, in the recesses of our own minds. We sometimes let ourselves down, there's no denying. With further analysis, we find that the mind is actually an inseperable part of the body. One cannot easily differentiate the health of the mind from that of the body. What I'm trying to get at is that greater insight into the funk that is Now is revealed in the knowledge that I was more or less awake from 8:30 Saturday morning to 2:30 Sunday afternoon; and inbetween that time I was transported a thousand miles or two via nearly every mode of locomotion available to man, save the back of some furry creature. A lack of sleep is one thing. A lack of sleep while on planes trains and automobiles is a different thing entirely.

Whatever. I'm in a funk and a like it. While some resist the downward slide with all their might, I perform a swan-dive down, down into its greatest depths. Its fine. There are no rocks below the surface, I know from experience...

What I need to do more than anything is write. The feeling is pretty overwhelming. I've been asking myself for a while now, "what is worth saying?" and I feel prepared to answer that in expansive detail. I'm briefly reminded of when I was a wee chap of just a couple years old, when for no apparent reason, I suddenly stopped talking. I must have had nihilistic inclinations even then. I almost remember thinking that the answer to the question is "nothing"-there's nothing worth talking about. Instead, for a while I just "meowed" like a cat. I thought it was cute and just as meaninful as speaking, but I think it worried my parents. Anyway, I was wrong about there not being anything worth saying. First of all, the value of talking, of chatting, is intrinsic. What one says is far less important than the fact that one says what one wants or needs to say. You don't need me to tell you that talking is thearaputic. And I think that it goes without saying that for most, talking is happiness. Sadly, I am not one of these people. I am not one of these "talkers" who would love nothing more than to have a rapt audience absorbing their every word throughout the day and into the night. Talking then is of lesser value to me. I'm left to listen more, while the substance of speech, as well as of everthing I read, moves ever so slightly to the fore. This is my explanation for why, every now and then, when I'm in a particularly dour mood, I feel a little like I'm swimming around in a sea of nothingness. At those times, nothing is what I find worthy of much discussion (even though it all is) and if there is something important enough, I'm not qualified to speak about it for any length of time, or else the subject requires a slow, methodical treatment. Pretty screwed up, huh? The point is that its high time I start writing again, because there's so much to say, and this is the only way I know how to find it.

But first, letls talk about the Big Apple. Yesterday, Fern and I returned from there after a week long vacation. I've already left you with the impression that I didn't have the best of times. Well, that's true, but I there were also times of significant contenment, relaxation, pleasure, happiness and joy. What comes to mind is:

• Walking through the beautiful Bryant Park, the sun setting between the skyscrapers, marvelling at the NYC Public Library, and casually walking east to the UN building.
• Many quality breakfasts on the second story of the Cranberry Cafe, people watching, as we looked forward to whatever the day had in store for us.
  
• Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and into Brooklyn with Seth, taking in stunning views of the bridge and city all the way (sorry you missed it Fern!).
• Setting off by myself on the subway while Fern met up with Lola. Emerging in the West Village and roaming freely throughout the beautiful neighborhood of brownstowns, etc.
  
• A couple of very good nights sleep on the comfortable bed of our hostel's room--including relaxing before bed watching CSI NYC.
  
• Watching Spamalot on Broadway.
• Taking a ferry boat ride around half the island-particularly some spectacular views (and accompanying photo shoot) near the Brooklyn Bridge and downtown. We saw the Statue of Liberty but she just looked kind of menacing and manly.
  
• People watching on South Broadway from a window seat in a cafe as a storm and high wind gusts blew people around on the street.
  
• The Camper shoe store. The Journey's shoe store where I bought a great pair of Diesels.
  
• Sitting in NYCs oldest church and jotting down some thoughts about why people believe.
• The beauty and clarity of the billboards in Time Square at night.
  
• An excellent Sushi experience with Lola and Fern.
• Eating at Panna II
• An amazing shrimp pasta primevara at an Irish Pub...beers as well.
  
• Walking through the meatpacking district with Fern.
• The view from The Top of The Rock (Rockefeller Center).
  

More will come in the next day or two. I'll be sure to share those thoughts and more pictures soon.