Now that the sun is setting around 2:30 in the afternoon, I can enjoy the show from my office.
I recently read a blog post about how there's a greater percentage of apartments in Manhattan that cost more than $15,000/month than those that cost less than $2000. What troubled me more than the implications about the disparity of wealth in the city, however, was the fact that the study included only apartments south of Central Park, which raises the question of why the blog used the term "Manhattan," given that I live in Manhattan but do not live south of Central Park. This isn't exactly a new issue, of course: for years I've seen maps of "Manhattan" that stop at 110th Street, which might not seem like a big deal unless you (like approximately 500,000 other people) happen to live north of 110th Street, in which case it makes you wonder: do I even exist?
"What is the nature of existence and can it be found on maps?" -- The Empire State Building Stephen and I used our extra hour to take a walk down by the Hudson, where the trees, despite not being included on certain maps, were managing to turn brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow.
The river, apparently eager to rent a $15,000/month apartment, flowed south. "Please document my existence before I drop to the ground." -- Red berries
This rose bush has been flowering at least as long as I've lived uptown. It's very good friends with the George Washington Bridge (not pictured).
Maybe it was better not to be mapped, I considered, as the light broke through the clouds.
Meanwhile, Clio took a short break from working on her personal essay for her college applications: "(Un)mapped Territory: Expectations from Life in the City."
"I went to college," said Elektra. "And yes, I majored in philosophy. I read all these stupid books about people, but you know what I didn't learn?" "How to catch flying snakes."
"I majored in afternoon naps," said Zephyr, "which as it turned out was a very useful degree."
In other garden news, it's been a remarkable season for the toad lilies. (The purple salvia is doing okay, also.)
There was a film shoot around the corner from us, which meant that the block was lined with vintage cars.
Is there any chance that in forty years we'll look back at the disgusting SUVs now populating the streets and think: those cars might have been gaz guzzlers, but they were pretty fucking bad ass.
The subway panels offered a less nostalgic sense of time, perhaps.
Maybe it's better to focus on leaves.
The grapes were a carpet of gold; the birch a waterfall. We were still several weeks behind the rest of the city in our garden.
There wasn't much red, either, just a hint of pink on the underside of the maple-sycamore hybrid.
Not that I was complaining: when I looked at the fallen leaves, they began to form a pattern, almost like a city grid, or what's often called a "map."
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11/07/2015
ORDER HERE
A RADICAL NEW MYTH ABOUT SEX, FAITH, AND THOSE OF US WHO WILL NEVER DIE
A young boy wanders into the woods of Harlem and witnesses the abduction of his sister by a glowing creature. Forty years later, now working as a New York City homicide detective, Gus is assigned to a case in which he unexpectedly succumbs to a vision that Helen is still alive. To find her, he embarks on an uorthodox investigation that leads to an ancient civilization of gods and the people determined to bring them back.
In this colossal new novel from the author of The Metropolis Case, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice collides with a new religion founded by three corporate office workers, creating something beautiful, illogical, and overwhelming. Part sex manifesto, part religious text, part Manhattan noir—with a dose of deadly serious, internet inspired satire—#gods is a sprawling inquest into the nature of faith and resistance in the modern world. With each turn of the page, #gods will leave you increasingly reborn.
Praise for #gods
“#gods is a mystery, an excavation of myths, an index of modern life, a gay coming-of-age story, an office satire, a lyrical fever dream, a conspiracy. One of the most ambitious novels in recent memory—and a wild, possibly transformative addition to the canon of gay literature—it contains multitudes, and seethes with brilliance.” —Mark Doten, author of The Infernal
“Matthew Gallaway’s #gods is a novel so brilliant, so funny, so full of strange and marvelous things, I couldn’t stop writing OMG WTF I <3 THIS SO MUCH in its margins. It’s rare to find a novel that so dazzlingly reinvigorates age-old meditations on faith and f&!*ing, art and eros. Luminous, enterprising, and sublimely cheeky, #gods tells the story, the myth, the dream of the human soul in all its glorious complexity.” —Suzanne Morrison, author of Yoga Bitch
“Matthew Gallaway’s storytelling manages to be both dreamy and serious; lean and luxurious. His words carry an incantatory power of mythic storytelling where beauty and savagery wrap around each other like bright threads in a gorgeous tapestry.” —Natasha Vargas-Cooper, author of Mad Men Unbuttoned: A Romp Through 1960s America
“If the ancient gods were just like us, only more so, then the same could be said for this strange, wonderful book, in which the mundane sorrows and small triumphs of very ordinary lives glow ever so slightly around the edges, sometimes quite literally. At once an oddly romantic send-up of dead-end office culture and an offbeat supernatural procedural, #gods is terrifically weird, melancholy, sexy, and charming.” —Jacob Bacharach, author of The Bend of the World
'It’s to the credit of Matthew Gallaway’s enchanting, often funny first novel that it doesn’t require a corresponding degree of obsession from readers, but may leave them similarly transported: the book is so well written — there’s hardly a lazy sentence here — and filled with such memorable lead and supporting players that it quickly absorbs you into its worlds.'
-- The New York Times
Music: Death Culture at Sea and Saturnine
Listen or download songs and records from my indie-rock past with Saturnine here and Death Culture at Sea here.
Music Video: Remembrance of Things Past
Watch the rock opera Remembrance of Things Past written and performed by Saturnine and Frances Gibson, starring Bennett Madison and Sheila McClear.
Video: The Chaos Detective
The Chaos Detective is a series about a man searching for 'identity' as he completes assignments from a mysterious organization. Watch the first episode (five parts) on YouTube.