Escapism on the Q.

It's so easy for me to believe that you are that one simple, shining solution. The flashlight in the room when the power's out, illuminating all of my inadequacies with blinding precision and then burning them away, if just for a while. 

I'm on a train. 

I'm a mole, because underground is where I feel most myself, I crave the anonymity, I so dig being a reflection on a window and a stolen glance. A pair of boots and nothing else.  

Maybe I'm just subversive. Maybe I'm just sub-everything. Always less and lacking.

(I wonder if I could crawl the gross span of these depths, deep and directly under all those little asian foods stores with their pallor and supernatural quality. Bars and churches. Vodka and holy water. I'm sure my eyes would adjust to the darkness as I scaled the rotting tracks of the Q. A girl phantom, content in my search of confusion. I would live off donations of pretzels and orangina from kindly vendors of vague middle eastern origin. Every little while I would lift my tired neck upwards, and peer with always thinning hope through the slats that allow bits of dusty light and the odor of burning meat to seep down, and the hellish steam to rise up to the street like a repressed memory or an unwanted thought. Looking up I would no doubt see the frantic platform gait of a scared prostitute on 7th avenue. Or the tired limp of a shoeless bum on 43rd street. I would be glad for my safety)

This place so bereft of joy is for me a mine of creative thought. 

I can see the ghosts of the trillions who have sat in the plastic seats across from me, their spirits are infinite in the sickly reflections of florescence. 

It's transportation, it's magic.

Sometimes I get lost in the beauty of the graffiti, I try in vain to make sense of the window scratches. When we halt between stops, I hold my own breath until the train starts breathing again, and I know we'll move soon. 

If I let go, I'm positive that we'll all explode. 

The voices of the conductors sound so tired, calloused with  years of experience. The crackle of their announcements brings me back to reality. 

And I always feel

I always have felt

That I'm on the cusp of the revelation of some secret, something of grand and extreme urgency.