The upstairs neighbors are finally moving out. The racket this activity produces seems like the grand finale at a fireworks show, like all the trompings and slammings and scrapings have been leading up to this free-for-all perpetual stomp and clatter. But all toward a good end. Silence. Peace. I'm imagining the (to them) familiar rooms now bare of furniture, scraps of paper and hunks of dust, long-lost objects expired in memory but suddenly renewed, revealed, embarrassed to have lain dormant and forgotten for so long, but oh, there they are. And the drab and tedious job of clearing it all away. Clearing everything down to the last speck, erasing your presence, removing every object, covering up every blemish, smoothing over an era so that the next resident can arrive with the illusion that all is new and original. The enormous white walls and the dullness of an environment fully exposed - this dullness once hidden by a personal museum of comfort-artifacts, experience-souvenirs. But here are the right angles surrounding our heads each night, here is the dull oppressive geometry, here's the naked flimsy protection of "home" stripped of all its defining symbols. A room. A cube.

Good riddance noise-makers.

I start my new job at Corner Bookstore tomorrow, a little shop in the Upper East Side you may have seen in, I don't know, a film called "You've Got Mail"? Crazy. I'm done with Macy's - and thank God. My soul was on a slow deflate since that gig started. I don't wish to appear ungrateful for the opportunity to earn way more money than my work deserved, but I am simply not made to be in front of a computer all day going cross-eyed over spreadsheets. Some fucking crazy thoughts entered my head. And I completely forgot/lost myself on numerous occasions. And had Lynchian moments of delirium and incoherence. So I'm out. I'll miss exiting the subway a block away from t (more)...