I had a dream, just before I woke up today that I was in some kind of doctor’s office, having recovered from something, and I was sitting on one of those tables with the shitty crunchy paper that makes you feel awful to sit on. And there was a TV set up, and a woman doctor and two other people. And one of the people said something about how they were gonna look inside my toe now, and the woman doctor stuck this white tube into my left big toe, and on the end of it was a video camera, with a feed to the TV, so you could see inside it and stuff. And I remember it not hurting, but that was probably because I was laying so still because I was freaked out about it probably hurting. And I remember the tube traveling in my toe, and in my foot, and up my leg, and then I woke up. I think it was the end of a dream-series before that, which I don’t really remember.

Anyway, yeah… sigh… I don’t know…. I wish, I wish, I wish… I wish a lot of things. Last night I went down to the East River again, around midnight, sat for a while, looking over at Manhattan. And it struck me how it just looked like some weird craggly mountain with little stars stuck into it’s crusty surface. Like the remnants of some kind of weird volcano or something. It’s probably because my vision is getting so bad, you know, I can’t make out the shapes so much in the darkness. Everything is kind of blurry, but it’s nice. None of that matters sitting at the riverside in the middle of the night, listening to music on my headphones, and listening to the wind with my body.

It’s become my religion, this spot on the East River. It’s what I have. It’s what I need. There’s something there, even when, or especially when, I’ve got nothing else. There are days you have, where everything seems right, and makes sense, and then times where your resolve just crumbles. But the river doesn’t care. I guess it’s like the tides. It’s used to the cycles, and knows it needs them to be what it is. I guess I spend a lot of time thinking I can escape all that.

I remember writing, though, in some journal when I was like maybe 13 or 14 (I have journals and sketchbooks going all the way back to 4th grade), that the only constant is change. God knows why I was pondering such mysteries at such a tender age…. I guess I was probably right though.

I just threw on all these Yo La Tengo albums here at work. 124 songs in all. Yeah, its gonna be that kind of day…. the kind of day… with a lot of calls for those ellipsis dots… Aaaaaa…. What am I doing? Where am I? Yadda yadda yadda… Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off, and be some poor regular slob, blissfully unconcerned, running on autopilot. Let it all unravel… I think that’s what I’m going to the river so much for, to let the unimportant things go, to float them off to Jersey, and let those poor suckers deal with it.

(You know what I’d like to do, is make one of those, I don’t know what they’re called, but they are like Chinese or something, and like its a candle and has paper around it, and they put it into the water, and it floats away, some kind of offering. You know, just offer up whatever’s ailing me. Did they do that in Karate Kid or something? Why do I know about this? Maybe it was Karate Kid 2.)