ON THE TRAIN IN NEW YORK CITY there are patterns, beating rhythms of textures, bodies, details, sounds, entering, exiting, vying to sit, earbuds as barriers dividing against the weighing nearness of the mass of total strangers, anticipation of time remaining until the next train arrives, aural information delivered by a patiently calm female voice, mixed with rising guitars and bucket percussion rhythms, above tracks littered with festering puddles of garbage, rat heaven, pierced by the squeals of old brakes, as a booming voices commands to stand clear, stand clear, ART IN MOTION, the egg-speckled floor conceals generations of stories of grime, and on the interminable ride home from work on the train, never fast enough, out of the tunnel, over the bridge, the sinking sun sets the skyline on fire and you remember where it is that you are
what’s in your bag? what are you listening to? what are you reading? where are you going? where did you get that jacket? we never ask these questions aloud. it would be weird anyway.
inspired by a brief yet stirring conversation with ari marcopolous after an interview for his 2012 show “wherever you go”