it’s always nice to take a morning stroll and see that the streets are already energized with activity, be it some of the locals smashing a piano or a girl tying red string around her head. Either way, I guess that’s why I live here: to luxuriate in the inexplicable that still likes to find its way onto Bedford Avenue every once in a while.
Now the creation inherent in destruction, or the destruction inherent in creation, is the invisible music of our daily endeavours, so the piano I have no qualms about. But I do wonder what String Girl was trying to say…I mean, are our lives formed by a simple collection of threads weaving into our minds, and do those threads become manually unraveled over time only to create new stories equally as fragile as stringy thread? or is String Girl just a silly girl with a roll of red string and very poor aim? I fear the answer is neither.
