Sickest Night of my Life 28.12.2010

Manhatten, 

a doughie batter, poured gushingly on a heated waffle maker, the gridded imprint, thats Manhatten

a regular organised rectilinear base on which creative energetic chaos bursts as a ruptured bladder. 

the city is a candy store of excitement, of play ground fun, of yoga mats and lycra tights, of running shoes and yellow cabs. its a megalopolis of shining lights at the ends of concrete caverns. its a culinary delight of hoola hooped sized pretzels, greasy pie and coffee cups

in the midst of the overload sits an island of respite, of blissful harmony.

Carnegie hall, a heavy set brick clad monolith on the outside, a volume as light as an aero chocolate on the inside. an island of sombre sobriety.the pinnacle of the classics.

How do i get to Carnegie Hall?. i rolled into the irish pub, chugged back 3 pints of happy hour beer, then in the slush of post snow blitz missiled my way down 8th avenue, trippled jumped the muddy puddles, danced the traffic light, moonwalked the zebra crossing cut back 3 blocks and skidded onto 57th and 7th. if only i stuck with the piano lessons and practiced, things mighta mighta been easier.

the New York String Orchestra had just begun. the gentle sounds of harps and violins settled my racing heart, gentled my thinking brain, untied my knotted muscles, set my spine to dangle as a string of pearls and disengaged my rocket-being.

New York city is for the eyes, but a concert at Carnegie is a gift for the ears. 

the Russian Bear Hunter, a little late but never too
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