(no subject)

if i could write i would write about the train, how it always sounds its horn at night and i can't figure out if it sounds angry, or frightened, or greedy. greedy, i think; the sound dominates the shut-down night. i dislike the way it leans on the horn after stopping for eons at the empty concrete crater of the secaucus station. the sound wails in an arc through the weedy night and the train curves, screeching, pounding into the tunnel so fast my ears feel the pressure every time. when i ride sitting backwards as i did tonight i feel as though i am watching my journey slipping away from me. there is too much anxiety tied up in all this.

but i haven't written in a while; who really knows when i'll be able to again.