Eleven years ago today I got married in the building which I now run stairs outside most of the days of my life in order to remain strong enough to endure what I have to endure, which would have killed anyone else a long time ago, and to eventually get where I am going.
If ever there was a metaphor, a visual, of my quest, perhaps that would be it.
As many moments as it takes. As many stairs. Stories. Pieces. Entries. Books. Works of art. As many breaths. As many refusals to give up or in.
Anyway. It's cold, so I put on a couple sweatshirts and went out to run those Government Center stairs, but they were roped off for some reason. Likely the city detected too much raw Zulu energy in one spot. That was probably it.
Walked a quick three miles. Listened to the Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady. Completed a story. Special one.
Sound the mantra: total focus. Matchless art. No mercy when we get there.
(And here was the issue--someone managed to drive a car onto the stairs.)