Passed through the birth canal of the human condition last night training back from hamilton heights (north manhattan) to bklyn. First the drunks on the street, a lady scrraming at her man, zombied out brown baggers and corona carriers, the the train, meandering down the car passed some seats with remains of vomit and blood, settling across from a cameo clad psycho with eyes like an abused 5 year old and a body like a 30 year old marine, intesly oggling a blond woman, getting up to pace the length of the car; the more well to do ignoring everything, as if riding above the seething tide on rafts of prosperity and dopamine; a man with a gold sequened jacket in a faux british accent held court to himself for a while on various matters peppering his discourse with snippits of chinese or turkish, and finally, home, following some drunk boys up the steps.
Maybe allowing ones self to apprehend the grotesque is a part of the vital experience. Being present with it. Maybe i bore myself with my own cowardice and my own programming entered in by a society where denial is often a way of life.