70

[Pasted in Typewritten Card]

.....on such walks I thought also of the Middle Ages, and of Breughel the Elder, and Hieronymus Bosch, of Petronius Arbiter, Lorenzo the Magnificent, Fra Lippo Lippi... to say nothing of the Seven Dwarfs, Swiss Family Robinson and Sinbad the Sailor. Only in a Godforsaken hole like Brooklyn could one assemble the monsters, freaks and anomalies of this world.

p 365-366 Plexus -the Rosy Crucifixion by Henry Miller

[Pasted in Typewritten Card]

Walk down any street in the soft violet light. Make the mind blank. A thousand sensations assault you at once from every direction. Here man is still furred and feathered; here cyst and quartz still speak. There are audible, voluble buildings with sheet metal vizors and windows that sweat; places of worship too, where the children drape themselves about the porticos like contortionists; rolling, ambulent streets where nothing stands still, nothing is fixed, nothing is comprehensible except through the eyes and mind of a dreamer. Hallucinating streets too, where suddenly all is silence, all is barren, as if after the passing of a plague. Streets that cough, streets that throb like a fevered temple, streets to die on and not a soul take notice. Strange, frangipanic streets, in which attar of roses mingles with the acrid bite of leak and scallion. Slippered streets, which echo with the pat and slap of lazy feet. Streets out of Euclid, which can be explained only by logic and theorem....

p 536 Sexus - The rosy Crucifixion by Henry Miller

71

[Pasted in typewritten Card]

At the corner I stood a few minutes, looking up and down the street as if I were taking it in for the first time. When you have suffered a great deal in a certain place you have the impression that the record is imprinted in the street. But if you notice, streets seem peculiarly unaffected by the sufferings of private individuals. If you step out of a house at night, after losing a dear friend, the street seems really quite discreet. If the outside became like the inside it would be unbearable. Streets are breathing places...

p 625 Sexus - The Rosy Crucifixion

My way lay along Myrtle Avenue. Dreary, weary, fleabitten Myrtle Avenue striped down the middle with a rusty Elevated line. Through the ties and the iron girders the sun was pouring shafts of golden light.

p 310 Nexus - The Rosy Crucifixion Henry Miller

8.30.69

New York Times - November 7, 1888 page 5 col 6

"A Crash on the Track

Two trains on the Brooklyn Union Elevated Railroad came in collision last night (Nov. 8, 1888) at the crossing of the newly-opened branch with the main road at Myrtle and Hudson avenues,