Thursday, September 18, 2014

Cab Thoughts

New York loves gloss and the grandeur of pop music that resonates in the space that opens up when you've emptied yourself in the pursuit of some lofty goal and find that emptiness is all you've achieved.

Lights go by the window of your cab home, the reaches of the unimaginably wealthy high above you in their eyries, attending their fabulous parties, coke so pure it doesn't even burn. All the songs on the radio sing of giving in: "I can't resist it no more," the digitized voices of desire wail, and you will long for the release of failure.

You will never have what you need, because when you get it, you will need another thing, further on, and you will sit in the cab after the show, and rejoice in the hollow ache of your desire, and so (somehow, hopefully) transcend it.

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