The World Outside
Working out of the NYC office this week. This morning as I sat in a coffeehouse off Broome, something caught my eye under the artwork on the wall. Tucked under a painting I found a postcard that read:
Don't fall victim to the space stealers. Oust the scum of our streets. They are wasting valuable oxygen. Scare them off into the sewers where they belong.
Handwritten.
This afternoon, it snowed. A bucket of tiny snowflakes fell from the sky. In windows of the lofts across from us, I could see the faces of others who were equally delighted in the beauty of it. It seemed the whole city was quiet for about ten minutes as they fell.
Almost as soon as it stopped, the city started back up again. We heard firetrucks outside our office window and the noise hasn't stopped much since. Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment on the corner, and the newstrucks are lined up Broome Street. I don't know much about what happened, except the rumors that he may have taken his own life.
Something about today has shaken me up. I can't put my finger on it. It's not the note, it's not that I'm sad someone I don't know is dead. Or maybe I am. Maybe I'm sad at the idea that someone could just... give up. Lose hope. I know I've been there many times myself, and it's a scary place.
I think tomorrow I will make some of my own notes and tuck them under paintings in coffeehouses.
Don't fall victim to the space stealers. Oust the scum of our streets. They are wasting valuable oxygen. Scare them off into the sewers where they belong.
Handwritten.
This afternoon, it snowed. A bucket of tiny snowflakes fell from the sky. In windows of the lofts across from us, I could see the faces of others who were equally delighted in the beauty of it. It seemed the whole city was quiet for about ten minutes as they fell.
Almost as soon as it stopped, the city started back up again. We heard firetrucks outside our office window and the noise hasn't stopped much since. Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment on the corner, and the newstrucks are lined up Broome Street. I don't know much about what happened, except the rumors that he may have taken his own life.
Something about today has shaken me up. I can't put my finger on it. It's not the note, it's not that I'm sad someone I don't know is dead. Or maybe I am. Maybe I'm sad at the idea that someone could just... give up. Lose hope. I know I've been there many times myself, and it's a scary place.
I think tomorrow I will make some of my own notes and tuck them under paintings in coffeehouses.
Krystyn
13 Comments
Reader Comments (13)
I miss snow. I liked the way you described it. I remember the sound that you could always hear during the first snowfall. Silence.
I hope you figure out what's bothering you. It's not a fun place, I share your "knowledge"...promise to write uplifting positive postcards--you may save someone's life.
I love that you're thinking of writing your own notes and leaving them in secret spots to be discovered like a long-long treasure.
That's how I'm going to think of it, anyway.
like others who've commented here, the death of heath ledger has sort of knocked me off balance. and like others i don't know why. i considered him a talented actor, but would'nt say i was a fan. something about his death feels really sad and significant. like a turning point almost.
ps. about a year ago i began leaving little notes of love, hope, silliness...guerilla love notes are slowly taking over tokyo :)
It's wonderful the idea of leaving hope notes in public places! Thank you for such inspiration. I'm going to put a link to your site in my blog.
xxx
Bete