I Fled The Coup // Brooklyn Odyssey

An odyssey, a tale, an adventure, an illusion? Do tree lined streets with cherry blossoms, bay windows, brick walls, old doors, met at every corner with alive avenues, alive people, places- unique, bicycles and sounds that echo existence, really exist?

An odyssey? Time will tell. A tale? I hope it’s more than a tale. An adventure? Undoubtable. An Illusion? Probable.

This sibling blog of ours is now being updated from two remarkably contrasting places. The place I described as an answer to my first question would be one and the antithesis of that would be the other.  I am learning to call Brooklyn, NY home for a rather brief moment. I can’t imagine it will become anything short of that. For someone like me, this is not a difficult place to wake up in every morning. To be melodramatic I’ll say to this city “you can have my heart but give it back when it’s time to go”. Please & thank you.

 

“A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening it’s meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.” – EB White (Here is New York)





 







 

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