die kinderspiele, pieter bruegel, 1560
it is once again well after midnight- 215am, eastern standard time.
the night takes the bustle of the desires and schedules away from the city, leaving it somehow pristine and neutral. of course, there are occasional sirens and car breaks, also a bit of random yells from drunken ryerson kids. but with the rain that soaks through the thickest sweater, as it permeated throughout the entire day and night, the accents of city night has been dimmed.
there are condensations on my window, i can hear occasional wind trying to blow through the smallest cracks of the glass- it is impressive how much dust i sweep on daily basis- the dust that rose from the ground and travelled all the way up to 32nd floor. this building started in 1971 and was completed in 1973 (same age as my bicycle), all 105m of it. considering there are only two more floors above this tree house, to say that i live about 100m above the ground could be a nice round-up.
from here, i see many things passing by- yes, i am letting it pass by and i am quite content. numerous parades, festivals, even protests. as a person who favours small gatherings, in a sense, it gives me a great vintage point to the world. especially when it's the single digit hours of the night.
i often am strongly admonished that i should be sleeping earlier- along with all the great advises. staying up late is a true vice of mine. the space that night brings us- the time and openness for renewal, meandering, reflection and concentration, i find it often irresistible to let it soak onto unconsciousness.
of course, i sleep much differently in various settings. in the little house in the hills, i am known to sleep early and lots, curled in spoon with my favorite minnow. often i open a book in bed, only to close it off on my face, already lost to the dreams that i dont often remember- and in the middle of neon pause, i feel as if i am desperate to collect the thoughts and fragments of the day that whizzes by so fast.
i may be a bit tired tomorrow, of course, but one cannot simply have everything one desires. i am glad to have a bit of moment to not be productive, to be 'decadent' in use of my own time- a play time, a time that has nothing to do with earning, working, serving others or being practical. all animals play, in fact, playing is probably one of the most important trait of true intelligence.
so here i am, playing by myself, quietly, as i did as a loner child, with all the small pieces of the day. i am happy. what a beautiful slice of the precious night, rekindled in simple need for a solo playing. love to you all, souls with twinkle in the eyes, the ones who still seek out the simplest pleasures.