Sunday, August 30, 2009

What I Spent Hours Writing in My Journal At Washington Square Park/Jack's Coffee House

Knowing everything will inevitably change never keeps people from lamenting about the fact. With the recession forcing doors shut, and the streets filled with people who don't know that the Washington Square fountain was, until recently, 20 feet t0o the left, it seems we as a general populace, will always remain in the dark about ourselves. With innumeral factoid sheets spitting in our face how many jobs have been lost, the question of "how will consumerism save us now?" seems to loom, static, in the background of all we do. But not just at face value. With my friends and family all hoping to achieve great things (and, unfourtantly, success in this country normally goes hand in hand with money) how will anyone figure a way to be happy, or, at least, be content? I am extremely lucky (?), derranged (?) enough to have no real direction, nor any immediate goals. Just to: be. But I do feel I have been keeping a tad bit quiet for much too long, in a couple of ways. This will change. "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" sounds from my left, as more laxidazical New Yorkers make fun of the many passerbys, photographers, people with cameras, and other New Yorkers simply minding their buisness. It's actually buiser than it ever has been here, though ironically, far less musicians and more street lights. There is also strangely more "Passive Lawn, No Sports" and "No Dogs Allowed" signs that are strewn about the park, to protect the immediate dollar at work on the grass that will at one point or another be the wrecking ball of this and every city. But I digress. "All Along the Watchtower", now; the men playing the song on a mandalin and acoustic guitar wear reflective sunglasses, sporty in their shades, laughing and awkward with Bob Dylan's words falling from their mouths all over the place, and too late. The Village has changed. An untrained pitbull to my right coughs up phlegm, barks excitedly, and gets hit on its snout by its two European owners; "No, no, no, no!" The men playing guitar play more Dylan covers, assuming everyone around them aren't drawing the connection to the area, and think themselves smarter for it. Across the way, two men in breakdancing outfits make quips about white people, as a white crowd claps them on. It smells like hot dogs and tobacco smoke. A man on a CurrentTV episode claimed that he hated to be the one to break to the nation, but this, from an economic standpoint, is monetary normalcy, if we've ever seen it. Which we haven't, so we as Americans all look at one another curiously wondering what in the hell to do now. But no one really pays attention to each other, and even when we do, we all shake our heads to any sort of alterior motive. But that's most of it for you. Of course humans are innately good-- but, just as John Lennon also reminds us, "we all have violence inside". I believe the chemical reaction these two extremes make gives us passion. I just hope one day I'll be able to harness an inbetween were I can speak as well as act. I hope one day this country can speak as much as it can act, and understand as much as it yells. Two girls slowly creep up to the man playing guitar. The man has a voice that could cut through bullshit, if there was such a voice. If there was such a need for such a voice--and there should be--but some could argue either way. A man is selling photographs of the old Village. This was my last Summer in the city, maybe forever, but who can really tell these things for sure. Not too much longer until a new city with less obvious motives. One that doesn't try as hard. To Jack's Coffee, if it's still open.

At Jack's.
I don't know if I'd have faith in coffee houses anymore if it wasn't for this place. Seems like everywhere else is just horribly half-assed, or simply put, dull. Best damn coffee here, though, really. Rose bought African Dwarf Frogs for our suite. So awesome. Ok, so I'm really going to miss the slowness, the relaxation, the...Ana! of the city! But really though. I like how close she and I have gotten. The city, and Ana, and me. I hope I get my writing groove back. Once I'm at school and am forced to, I'm sure I will. You see, I'd like to be able to set goals for myself for this year, but I can't figure if it's worth it or not. Might as well, I suppose:
1) Hang out with as many friends as possible (within reason!)
2) Do well in my writing classes...well, all of my classes!
3) Get most of my senior thesis out of the way this semester
4) Figure out something awesome either as an internship, or a class for next summer. Bushwacking, etc.

Now, in real time, it is 2:04 A.M. The cabs are whistling, the dump trucks are rumbling, and soon I'll be in a real bed again surrounded by friends and other random people alike. Every year lends new suprises, some very good and some bad, but given that this is my last year, I will try my damn hardest to do my best to make it memorable and generally good. I feel I have surrounded myself with people who can make it that way, though. I feel I accomplished a lot with myself today, even just with walking around, drinking coffee; because when I came home I without thinking researched volunteer opportunities, and signed up for 2. I am also now seriously contimplating taking courses after graduation to work with battered and sexually abused women, because these women need help, and I truly believe I could be someone they could talk to too.

You know, I honestly do not know what I want to do with my life. All I know is I'd like to make my life a good life; and not be a good person because I think others want me to be or because I'm comparing myself to others. But because I simply know I'm an alright gal, who just wants to help people out. I was there once, too, where too many people have been and should never have to be and I know I appreciated the helping hand when I got it. I would simply like to return to the world the favor.

I am here as a consiquence; I only hope to exist here as a favor.

Goodnight, and good luck. To me, and you, and everyone here.

No comments: