This was the view from my window the other day. The Hasidic couple that lives across the street decided they needed some private time away from their kid, so they did what any responsible parent would do. They stuck the kid outside in the air conditioner window cage. Now granted, it wasn’t the hottest of days, and I can only imagine the aggravation of raising a little human being, what with all the shrieking about sore tummies, the monotony of diaper changes & vomit washings, late-night red-eyed comforting over nightmares of closet-monsters, and all the other wonderful child-rearing details included in the package, but this kid’s face definitely conveys pants-shitting fear to me, a look of “Fuck I’m floating above the sidewalk outside the window & I can’t get back inside to Mommy & Daddy!”.

I’ll set aside my misanthropy for just a moment & go out on a limb to call this a possible case of child abuse, or at least neglect.

I’ve been feeling pretty down & uninspired since returning to NYC after my Atlanta excursion. I can barely bring myself to paint. I just read road atlases & fantasize about seeing the city slowly disappear in a rear-view mirror. Tiny excursions out of town only add to my desire to just get the fuck out of here forever. I dream of dusty desert cemeteries with Virgin Mary headstones & jackrabbit groundskeepers, redrock cliffs where bighorn sheep look down at me threateningly, warning me with bluffed charges that I’m a trespasser on their wilderness territory. I really can’t imagine waiting a whole year before I finally leave for my extended roadtrip around the country.
I’m trying to find some kind of inspiration & natural beauty in this city, for now, just to keep me going. Still, I have no idea what I’m doing here.