So folks. Here it comes.
The home-
sickness
for the place where you were happy.
And if you happen to open this page by accident, please try to hear me - the true home is where your soul is awake.
Even if it is a shabby lane in Queens. With local croissants, the most delicious in the world, as they were filled with hope.
The local grocery shop. Professor Sparrow, with his funny case studies. Mary McBride. The loveliest woman on earth. Andrey, with whom we went to see the Statue of Liberty. The green rocker shoes, which I threw away only this year. My MOMA. My Guggenheim. My Broadway. My East Village. And my Alphabet City. And my Polish restaurant near R. Foreman's theater. My Mekas. My Budweiser. Folks. I WAS happy once.
It was the afternoon of the Ascension Day. Whatever it is called in Lithuanian, I was longing for something spiritual, and entered some church. Not sure that it was St.Patrick's. Anyway, all these men in red, their songs and ... Gosh ... little plastic glasses of wine reminded me of the home sweet home, and I realized that this was my baptizing ceremony into this city. I was a "pagan" then :)
I think I told this story to some people already. The sunset on the corner of the Public Library, with the golden wheels of the Chrysler in a distance... And the red huge ball of the sun on the Hudson side. I thought it was a miracle. And I am not ashamed to tell anyone - me, being a part of the panteistic country and mentality - found the essence of the nature in NY, the dustiest street of the Big Apple. So whenever I read Mr. Salinger, I always remember this sunset.
Looks like an old lady with her shaking hands is writing her memoirs here, but I am not that old to remember this feeling of belonging to the universe there.
My favorite place? I loved the Fifth Avenue. But I also often visited SoHo. With the Twin towers in the horizon. That's why Woody Allen sounds absolutely brotherly to me, when he talks about NY.
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Chapter One: 'He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion' - er, no, make that: he - 'He romanticized it all out of proportion.' - Yes. - 'To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.' - Er, tsch, no, missed out something. - 'Chapter One: He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles.' - No, no, corny, too corny for a man of my taste. Can we ... can we try and make it more profound? - 'Chapter One: He adored New York City. To him, it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams into ...' - no, that's a little bit too preachy. I mean, you know, let's face it, I want to sell some books here. 'Chapter One: He adored New York City, although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage' - Too angry. I don't want to be angry. - 'Chapter One: He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.' - I love this. - 'New York was his town, and it always would be...'
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I loved this city all out of proportion.
And I love it now.
And ... the rest should be kept out of your eyes and ears, my dear readers. Later. Some day.
Once I opened the door of the Virgin Records and heard something very similar to Arina. I nearly cried. That was Carole King. I couldn't go home, as I was mesmerized by her intimacy... Am I too intimate myself now? Do not read it then... :) New York City is just a huge and most romantic love story one could imagine. Period.
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