Monday, August 30, 2004


Saturday, August 28, 2004


I'm pretty sure that the most difficult human condition is heartbreak.
There is no known treatment or medication. You cannot see a doctor about it. Walk up and down the aisles of Duane Reede and you will find nothing that can subside the pain. There is nothing that can numb the harrowing feeling of emptiness, at least not of a legal variety. Tomorrow looks even more bleak than today. The bed you sleep in--if you call this "sleep"--is too big and intimidating. It knows of your condition and almost mocks it, giving you significant space, reminding you that an absence is so much more potent than a presence.

I am anxious. I clean my room. I clean the living room. I think too much. My mind tells me to relax, to stop using it so much. I feel my neck turn to a tense knot like a twisted rope. Everything is a point of reference, a reminder of a better time. A picture, a note, a song, an article in the newspaper...oh, we were hoping to do that, I think. Yes, I remember when she spoke of this.
All the things I was hoping we would get to, never to be done. A check list left unchecked. A dozen events or places that will never know me. Or us.

Avoid the thought of her moving on. The awkwardness of running into her with someone else. The air in the room turning to a smokey thickness. The way my heart will most likely fall through the floor and into the ground below, buried and abandoned. Perhaps someone will dig it up in the future. Perhaps that person will be me.

Thursday, August 26, 2004


I have never felt compelled to get up during the night and write. I am not one of those people. But tonight, I have just returned from my near-three week trip in Ireland, Scotland, England and Holland. I have slept only three hours and I cannot imagine going back to bed right now. There is too much on my mind.

I'd like to blame my wide-awake status on the jet-lagged but England, the last country I was in, is only a five hour difference--catching up a time gap so small has never been a difficult task for me before.

I hear the garbage men outside collecting the trash. God, it must be so awful to wake up this early every morning.

I have so much on my mind I don't even know where to begin. Life as I had anticipated it (before I left) may change drastically in the next few days and I'm not really sure what to do.

The sun has yet to rise. It is 5:01 AM. I'm almost angry at the day for having not yet begun. I resent the outside for still being so dark and early. I am not at fault for being up; this Thursday is wrong for not already greeting me. My head feels slightly like a dampened sponge that refuses to be squeezed, retaining the water, adding a heaviness that knows no release.

I'm not sure what to do or, in fact, if there is anything for me to do. And I know that sometimes we must concede and just go for the ride. I only wish I was in the passenger seat. The back seat feels so far away from the windshield view. I don't know which exit is next.

Friday, August 06, 2004


I was walking down Broadway the other day and a perky young woman tried to solicit me to sign the paper resting on her clipboard. "Help elect John Kerry," she said.

I said, "what happened to beating Bush?"

"Uhh...can't we do both?" she said confused.

Monday, August 02, 2004


I am still trying to figure out why I should vote for John Kerry. Somehow, because he isn't George Bush, isn't reason enough for me. I find it quite disheartening that the Democratic Party is running on a Beat Bush platform. Isn't there anything stronger than that? Is that the inspiration we're looking for? Or are we beginning to notice that Kerry will say anything to anyone at any time. Kerry, are you the play-dough of the 2004 Election?

How can we get the apathetic voters to come out of their homes on Election Day and vote for a person that only had the personality of a high school principal that's trying so hard to be cool? I've been thinking about this a great deal--frankly, I don't know if I will be voting this year. I find myself becoming that apathetic voter. Mr. A. Pathetic Voterstein. Yes, I've heard your argument; blah blah every person counts. Arye, you need to partake in history, in the making of America. In risk of sounding misinformed—oh, wait a second, I am, like a majority of my fellow Americans--I don't want to be responsible for what happens in the next four years. It scares me. And is it voting or dying, as P. Diddy posits. Well, P. has apparently forgotten about a third option--sitting on my couch and watching CNN.

When I decide what I want for dinner, I don't think about what I'm not in the mood for. When I chose my television programming, I don't browse through the shows I don't want to watch.

I wonder if the country--out of complete dissatisfaction-just decided not to vote this year and the election turned out numbers in the hundreds, would the government only then get the message? How can a country of ours with such opportunity and talent produce two candidates of such damned potential (damned if we do...)?

Having watched the Democratic Convention last week, it has become apparent to me that politics is not so different from a science fiction movie. No substance, just special effects.
When did the Democratic Party become so tofu? Bland. I feel so un-full.
The more I think about it, the more it frustrates me.

Canada really looks nice.