A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Walls Started Talking
I only knew that address as where that woman used to live, it was early 1980s, I thought she only wanted to dance with me which made me nervous I was interested in someone else and then I found she wanted to dance with anyone where there was a possibility to be loved. I last saw her running up Third Avenue with some guy, both lit more from alcohol than any good intentions.
Now, what's left of a place where I knew someone lived are these walls. Someone picked out that wallpaper. Someone else picked out those colors. That green, those patterns - they were part of a safety called home, who knows maybe that woman who danced with a lot of people.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.