And to begin with...
And to begin with, because you must always begin somewhere and it is sometimes difficult to decide where the beginning really starts, I do not and have never in my life resided in New York. The name of this journal and hopefully it's contents were inspired by a week long trip to NYC, a last minute ticket away from San Francisco during a time when I desperately needed to get away. The endless swirl of the City around me gave a peaceful feeling anonymity where I could examine my life without existing within it, for once. And during that time, I started to write again. Alone and surrounded by thousands of strangers, I seemed to be able to take a break from being myself and simply write about it: my stories about me, what I wanted, and especially what I didn't want. For a brief shining moment, writing was like a blazing flame of clarity in the gray and cloudy world that I had so unhappily found myself in.
So. This is not a journal of what I do every day or of who said what at which party last night. Instead, it is merely intended to be an experiment in writing. I will probably post bits and pieces of old stories in random order, there is no need for chronological accuracy here. Like sifting through a box of old photographs, each separate instance or minor revelation will be left as it was within that moment, not stacked together to produce some overarching "message". After all, there can be no moral to this story as long as it is still in progress...