Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Târziu și Dracului

Newtown Creek, Hunters Point, Queens
Stories and photos from autumn's Americas border bouncing bonanza await assortment, while those from years past remain incomplete. The home base life lived in between these journeys accounts for much longer swaths of time, offering material equally worthy of documentation, that remains just as unassorted.

Laboring in various sectors of the transportation industry while helping out with family finances and mental health issues requires an amount of energy that leaves little for blogging, let alone other artistic and altruistic endeavors. I don't have my own children so I can't complain. The age of excuses and self pity is coming to an end. It's becoming now or never, more than ever. I lasted the better part of a year at the art handling job (driving box trucks). It was fun and fulfilling until the distress of chaotic mismanagement took over and it stopped being educational. Around the holidays the art handling world took a nap, but the bills didn't. That was my opportunity to play career musical chairs again.  

In the spring I had vowed not to drive a taxi again for as long as I could. On the winter solstice I not only returned, but with the same intense sense of honor and joy towards it as I had when I first got my hack license in 2006. I remain mindful, however, of the undignified reasons behind the temporal career swap, and vow to limit the amount of shifts I drive to a minimum.  In fact, I plan to leave New York all together for a little while, so I can focus on things besides the rat race. It won't be easy unplugging from this city though. I currently live in Chinatown, my favorite neighborhood in all of the Apple. I share an apartment with my sister and two roommates, which makes the rent reasonable, but I find it difficult to concentrate on creative pursuits. Houston, TX and Lake Worth, FL are both calling my name, each for more reasons than one. The first breathless blurb from recent taxi shifts in almost a year is in the works, along with every other jammed particle awaiting colonic therapy, metaphorically and then some.  

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