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, March 31, 2011
One Sweet Night On The M2 Bus
1 comment:
Anonymous
said...
People coming and going, occupying the same air space for a while, touching the same seats/backs/cords etc. Do we leave a little bit of ourselves behind to be absorbed by the next person? (and I don't mean the smell of garlic in the morning) The short time I spent in my youth riding the TTC I was aware of how surreal it was. All those people, barely awake, swaying along in a twilight kind of haze.
Have I mentioned lately how very much I enjoy your blog? You always make me think.
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.
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1 comment:
People coming and going, occupying the same air space for a while, touching the same seats/backs/cords etc. Do we leave a little bit of ourselves behind to be absorbed by the next person? (and I don't mean the smell of garlic in the morning) The short time I spent in my youth riding the TTC I was aware of how surreal it was. All those people, barely awake, swaying along in a twilight kind of haze.
Have I mentioned lately how very much I enjoy your blog? You always make me think.
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