Serenity (sandcastle) wrote,
Serenity
sandcastle

  • Music:

if new york city were a human face, what would it look like?

I just have to share this brilliant spoken word story. It's by S. Girner and was featured in my Russell Simmons' One World magazine.

The faces of New York are colors. They are reflected in the dirty windows of the 1/9 train. The faces of New York are geography. They are the uptown socialite and the East Village painter and the musician in Washington Square Park. The faces of New York are motion. They are the businessmen speeding by and over and under you during rush hour in Grand Central. The faces of New York are innocence. They are the third graders skipping down 10th Street in their school uniform and the elderly couple who hold hands walking through the Park. The faces of New York are blindness. They are the blonde stepping over a homeless man in her Prada shoes. The faces of New York are hunger. They are the actors waiting in line for a BackStage open call. The faces of New York are speed. They are the hip-hop instructor walking in rhythm, his long hair dancing. The faces of New York are exhaustion. They are the old Chinese man fighting his way up the bus steps and the teenage mother on the F train. The faces of New York are cocky. They are the men catcalling, "Hey baby, do you wanna take me home?" The faces of New York are phony. They are the PR woman schmoozing with her perfect voice, they are the blind date promising, "I'll call you." The faces of New York are hope. They are the bikers rushing down 8th Avenue in the final moments of the AIDS ride. The faces of New York are sweat. They are the construction workers in the abysses of the subway and the Kozmo delivery guy in August. The faces of New York are hopelessness. They are the terrified parents waiting in St. Luke's ER and the middle school teacher without enough books and paper. The faces of New York are noise. They are the fans at a Yankee game and the ubiquitous fighting couple next door. The faces of New York are languages. They are mouths that weave together a tapestry of sounds both familiar and not. The faces of New York are music. They move together and apart, they harmonize and scratch out-of-tune; they are loud and soft, and longing and alone. They are me. They are you.
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