Interpol says it well, "Tonight I'm gonna rest, my chemistry." Note the pause, wait for the weight to sink in, that's what I love about this band. Every word is a declaration, and at the same time, a resignation. Of course, I think they be singing about cocaine, and I'm just borrowing lyrics to wax on a very typical New York day. Interpol says the truth, "I haven't slept for two days," and at the end of it, I hit the sack like bricks with no mortar. My limbs just about fall apart--a marathoner who just overdid it--and yet proud, I'm proud of these dogged New York days.
Obstacle 1, the daily commute, and I'm crossing the Manhattan bridge for the 789th time on the Despair train. It's the same shimmering sight of lights, some regal, and then there are these two buildings dressed in blinking technicolor bulbs, looking like they lost their way en route to China. I think, I'll miss these two buildings. I'll miss this New York, black and naked in the night, when I leave it one day.
I have a habit of asking New York transplants whether they thought they'd be here for as long as they have, and almost unanimously, they exclaim, "no!" "not at all," "two or three years?" and here we all are, racing against the years. I ask out of fear, I think, fear to be rooted.
But New York is full of brilliance and splendor, it really is. If Ohio was lonely and strange, New York is our own little vertical paradise. ...And China, China is a complicated mix of nostalgia, fear, intrigue, and enlightenment. In the end, maybe the places don't matter all that much. In the end you only recall a blur of faces--family, friends, characters. Go where the people are. Go where the weddings are. Go where the stories go.