Firstly the whole logging on to blog just jumps on the rythms of my mind, I mean it is so counter the flow of conciousness which spurs my creative that I am sometimes just chasing my tail to get back where I was....but for New York New York.
I never heard Alistair Cooke, the famous BBC journalist who commented on Americana over many years from his window on the world which I believe was several storeys up in New York. I think may have heard a few dulcet tones as he retired. I did wonder how someone could fall in love with a country like America,
......Laura arrives home and wants to talk.....you see if your writing in a book people leave you to write but IT doesn't have the gravitas of pencil and paper. Byron wasn't on line, Yeats never worried about his connection dropping out, Kerouac was all about dropping out in the beat generation.
So where was I on New York, I wondered how someone could fall so in love with a country like America, but as I watched Griff Rhys Jones in NYC I was intrigued by the place. I realise all I have is Hollywood and second hand accounts and just bad examples. New York seemed multi-cultural and as the montage layered jazz over melting New York sunsets, bridges silhouetted, pinks and oranges fading behind a sky line starting to sparkle. I thought I want to be there, I started to remember that the beginning of all my journeys was in New York, Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty setting out on the epic OnThe Road. My trips to Africa, Asia, Oceania and Europe all started in New York. I love America, to love isn't always to like and I think that is true whether it is about loving your wife, your job, your favourite food or a country. Love is to recognise it for it's intrinsic value, accept its faults.....maybe even cherish them.... but to always see all that it, or they, can be. America....I think I love you.
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