Notes from a Greyhound

I recently found my notebook for the journey to New Mexico, under a stack of Paris Review Interviews. I thought I’d put some of the notes up here, in case it mysteriously vanishes again. Apologies for the disjointedness. At least in type it is more readable than in my torturous handwriting. More in a few days:


Port Authority – like a murky tiled bathroom uncleaned – smell of sulfur in the ladies. Worn bus – dirty print of greyhound on back of seats.


Newark – Built on an inhuman scale impenetrable buildings. Car parks potholed – air of sadness’leftover industrial decay, pathos of  “countryside cafe” on Cottage + Mulberry street. High Wire fences. Every cliche of a rundown past train/coal boom town — dead bald eagle on road that was potholed!


NJ – Oppressive trees.


PA – Opening into rolling farm country, the blue mountains (Appalachia), yellow spring flowers, gaudy against thick green – trees somehow less menacing, springs from the earth, spaced out with land  sheep + cows + barns with white roofs, silos twinned, haze down from the hills. Milk farms.


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Filed under consolations of writing, New Mexico, Planning

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