Tuesday, January 10, 2012

In the Temple

From Journal #48
Monday, July 27, 2009

3:24—In the Temple in the Village, (now gone!) as the thunderstorm comes on... I’m the only one in here—sitting on a stool up in front and looking out the window at the rain. I can see the WSQ arch and the Empire State Building to the north—the only reason that these views are possible is because the church that used to be across the street has been razed and an empty lot now sits there (shockingly!) on the corner of Third & Thompson. I struggle to remember what the church looked like: I remember stained glass and a modernist style—maybe the 1960's?). A portal has opened temporarily (soon to be shut!), offering a rare and unexpected view—a phantom corridor cut through brick, mortar, and memory.

Now the rains come in earnest and I welcome them—it is comforting somehow in this hollow hour of uncertainty. The rains bring a measure of cessation to the street activity which is certainly welcome. The music is distracting: one pompous piece of classical puffery ends and another takes it’s place immediately... but the pen flutters on, leaving a tell-tale record of smeared-ink hieroglyphic symbols. The Empire State has become pale and gray with indistinct outlines… marooned at Third & Thompson, sipping a bitter barley tea that cost me $1.50: a reasonable price to pay to have a refuge from the storm. I feel better in here than I do in the park—the park is to a large extent intolerable these days: The Desecrated Park*.

3:39—What is to become of me? Steady downpour... Rain-dance in Demonium Square, as streets become fluid, elastic, and strewn with psychic debris…and still the rains come...but no refuge from my troubled thoughts: ensconced—burrowed-in—wedged-in—and hunkered down in the confines of this anomaly known as the Temple in the Village. But even the Temple will be off-limits as soon as the construction begins across the street. I’m sure that the dust, dirt, and fumes will be sucked right through the door—to say nothing of the noise—and I'll be driven out once again*.  But the temple has already closed forever—the proprietors and customers continue their rounds—unaware of their own demise. Smeared thoughts, watery observations, and ink-run despondencies.

Now raining hard... downpour... the rain hits the street and sidewalk with an incredible violence: The Dance of Maddened Molecules, as fugitive colors run out before our troubled eyes... a weird and melancholy outpost in Absentia.

Storm is starting to abate—I don’t know if I welcome this development or not... skies are gradually lightening but it’s still raining...

Third and Thompson Rain-Follies.

In the Downpour...

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