Category Archives: Life

Repairing Time

It’s a new and silly world, here, isn’t it.

What happened to the telegraph, anyway? And how can I miss it if I’ve never seen one? There was something romantic about a quill and parchment, wasn’t there?

Computers, the internet, the ocean of thoughts and softly-lit laptop screens; I’m pretty sure I’m still adjusting to that.

There was once, I think, a satisfactory quality in making it a night out to see classical music play on the weekend, right (they probably just called it music)? …instead of driving out to Wal-Mart in my pajamas for the Redbox machine?

I say that with the birth of advanced technology, and with the introduction of speed, something very human was buried in a pile of undesirable words like uninteresting and slow and unrelateable.

Fine, that’s fine, but time still flows at the same speed as before; one minute is still sixty seconds, and one second is the same second it’s been since the beginning of time (or since we started measuring it, if that’s better to say).

Are we destroying our own potential? I say that what we’re doing is creating a version of time that suits our economic and personal needs. But what’s convenient isn’t always what works (I almost wrote “what’s convenient isn’t always what’s human”–but that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?)

We’re the ones who made and use this stuff. Humans. We’re the ones who chose it, and it’s adaptation time, baby.

Well, maybe for you. I’m going for a walk in the park, and I’m not bringing my smart phone.

Take care


Leave a comment

Filed under Life, Philosophy, Technology

The Heart Lock Hustle

2013-12-22 11.27.40
I saw the sunset on the Brooklyn Bridge, yesterday, the winter solstice. I ended the shortest day of the year watching the sun go down behind the Statue of Liberty. It was 52 degrees out; I was comfortable in a t-shirt and my grungy yellow corduroy jacket. Tourists were everywhere, and some genius had come up with the idea of selling them “heart locks,” which are little locks you click onto the bridge, symbolizing, well, whatever you want to symbolize. My friend pointed out that if those locks are as popular as it seemed, there must have been someone coming by, on a regular basis, to cut them off, making room for more. Now that I think about it, they probably just unlocked and re-sold them.
Up at the apex of the bridge, we figured we would grab a pork bun when we got to Chinatown. I’d never had one. They’re supposed to be bread with pork baked into them, the same way some other breads are baked with cheese. Best around, I was told, and I agreed to try one, thinking of how disgusting it must be.
Helicopters were taking off, one after the next, off of a platform in front of the Statue of Liberty. My friend and I decided to go to a pier that was close-by. It would be a good spot to pour vodka into our drinks.
The breeze at the pier was refreshing. The sun had gone down, and the waves reflected all the lights. I made my screwdriver. We caught a buzz, went home, drank again, and passed out. I never tried the pork bun, but I didn’t really want to anyway.
On my way home, this morning, I couldn’t find my damn sunset picture, so I took a snapshot while I was driving. I thought the light and dark contrast on the roof of the tunnel was cool, but my windsheild was dirty, and that kind of messed it up: but, there it is, up at the top of this post.

Leave a comment

Filed under Life, Travel

The Horrors of Being Horrorless

Picture taken through a clean window

Picture taken through a clean window

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m in a small town in Rockland County, New York. It’s about 45 minutes from the city, and somehow, the city is eons away. So, here I am, not in NYC but instead watching a brilliant, premature sunset through the stained window pane of a fast food restaurant. It’s not stained like stained glass—it’s stained like someone was flicking ice cream on a spoon at the window. That’s the only way I can imagine those dried-up, white drippy globs ever climbed so high.
The sun’s vanilla on the snow and it looks cold. It penetrates the leaves of a nearby bush. The leaves tremble at the mercy of a wind.
There’s an Hispanic kid eating ice cream and smiling through sparkling eyes; he’s telling his dad what’s what about fire-breathing serpents.
“Fire-breathing serpents aren’t real, anyway” he informs. He speaks between ecstatic bites off a plastic spoon. “Did you know that?” Dad is nodding and chewing on a burger.
I get to thinking that I miss being afraid of ghosts. When did that stop being real? There’s something heartbreaking about a life without belief.
Thing is, we can believe anything we want to…we do have that kind of power. Galaxies emerge from our minds; and those of us who don’t believe in ourselves may find it easy to disprove, to quote Douglas Adams, “god, the universe and everything.” edit: I think I got the quote wrong…:/ Of course I don’t mean god. I was just talking about ghosts. But belief impacts our experience—and I’ll never limit my experience to a sun going down over a bunch of snowy trees in December. It’s a fire-breathing serpent, and he’s going to hibernate before the night gets cold. It’s a giant ball of ice cream. It’s the fucking Egyptian God of the Sun, Ra, for all I care. But don’t bore me with cold facts, kid, okay?
~Ezekiel S.

Leave a comment

Filed under Fantasy, Growing Up, Life, Philosophy, Travel