Updated: Apr 28, 2021
The pure, synthetic tones of Deep Forest are not pure at all in this apartment on the 13th floor of a building in the Brighton Beach projects.
The music is polluted and so are my thoughts. Martha’s Song gets distorted in the cacophony of a passing D train. As I put in my earplugs and raise the volume I lose the feeling that this particular song gives me. I also remember to lower the volume after the train leaves because father is sleeping; father is always sleeping.
Mama and papa moved back to Brighton Beach when I left for college. They entered the lottery for these Trump-built, rent controlled co–ops years ago and finally their number was up. They had to choose between our one bedroom and a much smaller, dirtier one. So there was never going to be a room for me. But the rent is real cheap and since mama can’t work anymore, papa can now afford to support the both of them.
I try to imagine that I’m some place else but it’s damn hard to meditate when car alarms keep going off.
Searching for purity is a fruitless journey in this apartment. All the NY elements are working against me. Cohesive thoughts stay long enough for me to sense them and then dissipate. I attain clarity and lose it in the passing of the D train.
Its amazing how one moment you have the perfect set of words to describe how you feel and as soon as you take out pen and paper to write them down, they’re gone. Kind of like when you’re getting ready to sneeze but you don’t and so you never feel the relief.
Sometimes I put in the earplugs to get away from my thoughts.