sic volo, sic iubeo (caca / phony)

last wednesday i was sitting on the 20th floor of the condé nast building, safe-like and day-dreamy, privileged but contract-less, watching snow swirl and fall and rise like there was no top and no bottom and it was coming into itself at every angle...the flakes were in complete cacophony, like the winds affected some but not others, there was no rhyme or reason; they just darted around, and eventually down, and it was never-ending (well, 24 hours later...it was...) but the dance, i mean, the dance was never ending...my eyes would start on one large flake by the window and watch as it disappeared into the rest and another would catch my attention and now i was darting around with this one...until, it was...out of sight...and eventually - were the flakes people - out of mind...the beauty of it was that the same dance would never happen again and no one could ever have choreographed such a thing...nope, we just swirl and dart and fall and sometimes rise and new york was my snow globe if not for one evening and i remained in this trance and selfish stance all the way home and on that train ride i saw a familiar 'flake waiting on the platform but my car passed in an instant, an instant enough, and i didn't flinch or blink or even feel and i thought that was sad but also not my loss...the face had unfazed me, and the moment was as compelling as the smell of snow, maybe --- i.e., nill, baby - not at all, baller --- so poker face got off (it was the last stop, after all) and i moved unnoticed in a red and black hunting cap alllllllllll the way home to the warmest apartment in brooklyn and i shuffled up franklin and 4 flights of stairs to the moss green of the living room and there we ate pralines and cream and discussed the poetics of text, the transparency of their intent, and to whom she should send her valentines...she was in the process of mailing hers, and i was in the process of silently appreciating those who actually do, faze me...