1/8/09, the reason I'm in New York

"I'm in a dark room and I can feel my mind going. I don't want to be here in this cold, black city any longer. Is it truer what they say? that the city brings you down? that it takes away the human in you? Really it just makes me feel more. The métro doors close in front of me and I just wish he wouldn't have moved for me, let me stumble into that path. Give me the fucking handle, métro, and let me ride. There are too many memories, too many transitions on the rails. That queue is not worth standing in. Do I know where else I'd rather be? or is this a case of "anywhere but here"? Will thinking solve: how do I know what I know? Is this love or pretend? a reaction from a reaction from a cause from an effect back until we can't see or feel no more, until nothing matters, but then, here, it does. My métro's stuck on the tracks, a pit stop at the immovable. and when will it change? Keep the motor running, take deep breaths, and moisturise the hands dry from the static Black skies, a storm inside, there's nowhere else to go but where you've been before, what you've seen before, and going down the path you didn't know you were forging. I'm a nihilist to the circumstances, where nothing but nothing feels right. Rebuild or reform? and learn which is practical and feasible. Too many contingents that I wish would mute themselves until I know how to tune to volume. I lie in bed, in my black box, and though I try to fight the darkness, all I want to do is sleep."