But truth be told, although Jerome kept his phone with him as a close friend, it was still more like a distant relative from a younger generation. For his younger friends, the technology hummed as part of their being. He couldn't walk around plugged in with earbuds, listening to music. This prevented him from hearing the music and sounds of the city that was as vital to him as the visual experience.
Now appeared to be a time in which those who had been closer to him in the past were more distant, their orbits ranging to other needs, demands and interests. He recognized this as a necessary evolution in relationships. But he believed that on a fundamental level they remain constant to his experience.
He had just been going through many systemic changes and wanted to share them, but it no longer seemed possible through the configurations of the past which now emerged drained of spontaneity. But the immediacy might now come from other sources.
Yesterday he had been experiencing an intense artistic breakthrough. It was an extended high as though he were on drugs. He realized part of the source was the energy of new people in his life who had imbued him with their energy and zest for living, and suddenly he was aware of new projects, ideas, major alterations. Additionally, it seemed clear that an indispensable source for writing and creating includes social media and blogging.
He had these creative binges before, especially in college, and often came crashing down. Some collapses were quite serious, but always led to positive growth. Yesterday had been a synethesia, a mixing of sensory experiences and genre. He couldn't help but think of the poets Coleridge and Wordsworth who were perpetually high on life (and heroin) and were the rock stars of the 19th Century. Jerome had always thought of himself as a poet living a masquerade, minus the heroin.
People he would like to engage more in a dialogic exchange were also not accustom to the technology providing that possibility, so there were many missed opportunities. But now there were some new friends that seemed to be more attuned to his need for exchange and didn't feel it was so much of an imposition. It was difficult to find a balance because text on a screen can sometimes the opposite of what is intended. Emoticons were not necessarily the solution to the clarity of emotions and meanings.
By now, the reader might well wonder where this story is going. Well it's headed toward Autumn, if we can believe titles. Of course, this contains an assumption that there are any readers around. I am learning that writers must assume there are readers, or I'm not sure how they could remain sane. But I am learning writers can be a closeted group, writing their stories in solitary confinement.
We can only observe that Jerome now was sorry that he didn't go into the Chelsea Square Restaurant and to join Suna and Hana when he had seen them a few days earlier. That would have been the spontaneous thing to do. They were so casual and enjoying each other's company as they sat over coffee.
If that had happened we might have had a humorous turn of events, because the trio often laughed together over the most trivial things. I think we might be genuinely happy if Jerome could lighten up a bit and trust the humor in life. Sometimes he just thinks too much. His best moments seem to be when he simply lets go and connects to the immediacy of the moment.
Well, with that in mind, as Jerome walked out of East of 8th, he heard the strains of Autumn in New York sounding in his mind's ear:
Autumn in New York...
Why does it seem so inviting?
Autumn in New York...
It spells the thrill of first-nighting
Glimmering crowds
And shimmering clouds
In canyons of steel
They're making me feel,
I'm home...
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