Urban HermitA man could walk through the streets of New York City with a merry-go-round on top of his head and nobody would take much notice, let alone bother him about it. So I suppose it is a good thing for the merry-go-round headed that New Yorkers tend to ignore each other.————–Wade from Vagabond Journey.com [...]
A man could walk through the streets of New York City with a merry-go-round on top of his head and nobody would take much notice, let alone bother him about it. So I suppose it is a good thing for the merry-go-round headed that New Yorkers tend to ignore each other.
Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Brooklyn, New York City- October 7, 2008
Travelogue — Travel Photos
I walk through these people strewn streets spinning my cane and trying to act very much like some weird sort of prince of Thebes. “When you get to New York, walk with a swagger in your step and you will be alright,” I was told before I entered through the gates of this odd sort of pre-assumed Leviathan.
I found myself beginning to like this joint, as you can be just as anonymous in New York City as in the deepest, darkest of forests. A hermit has no better abode than then heart of a big, modern city:
Orthodox Jews walk the streets with huge, two and a half foot wide hockey puck like things masquerading as hats upon their heads, black men tie up dreadlocks with Africa colored cloths a half meter up off of their melons, and the worst comment that I have yet received for my somewhat pompous top-hat is that I look like a leprechaun.
I probably do, and therefore affirmed the gesture.
But the city is eating away at me. People energy is superficial, and I am not subsisting off of much. My energy is draining.
The faceless crowds still have faces, but they are not seen in the zebra-striped menagerie of the landscape. Skyscrapers cut off my connection with the sun, buildings my ability to feel the wind, city lights opaque the stars, and exhaust fumes taint the air. I am living in an artificial hybrid sort of life, and am beginning to feel terrible.
Walking the streets as another be-masked, faceless, and scarcely noticed drone. The feeling that I need to get out of here is becoming ever present.
I need to get back to being The Foreigner.
Links to previous travelogue entries:
Ground Zero Photos New York City
Vagabond Not a Drunk
Cockfight Culture and Tradition
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