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But if you stepped on path of sacred art and stuck it out through thick and thin
We are home. The little cats have been fed. Autolycus has clung to my shoulder with his enormous paws and purred thunderously into my ear. Hestia has leaped onto the back of my office chair and shredded it enthusiastically with her ears laid back like a demon rabbit. (I have no idea why she greets me this way.) Autolycus is playing in my office doorway with the red plastic ring off a gallon of cider and I am drinking a lot of very hot water to make up for the dryness of the train. There was another thing we saw in New York, which I wanted to wait until I got home and could get the pictures off my camera to post about.
We found a shrine.
I don't know what else to call it. I imagine most New Yorkers on my friendlist have seen it already, but I hadn't known it was happening. Because we were heading for the Strand, we took the Q train from Flatbush and 7th and got off at 14th Street–Union Square; we came upstairs through the turnstiles and I said suddenly and inaptly, "Oh, this is interesting." In front of us was a tiled wall of fluttering Post-It notes of all plain or office-perky colors, carefully excluding most of a newspaper advertisement and I think an offical sign from the MTA and otherwise as thick as mosaic. It continued around the corner, all the way to the foot of the stairs at the northwest corner. They said things like "Love is Love is Love is Love" and "Call your elected officials regularly!" and "CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE" and "Love Trumps Hate Love you Hillary" and "Fired the FUCK UP" and "BE KIND ACT UP" and "Grieve the country you live in. Fight for that country's future" and "Even if you ignore everything else, the man is still incompetent as fuck!" One was a doodle of a dick and balls lettered with Trump's name. One was a two-note-spanning satirical prayer. They blew like aspen leaves every time a train went by, but did not come unstuck. People were writing and adding Post-It messages as we watched. We wrote our own. I totally let down the poetry-reading population of Manhattan by misquoting Auden's "September 1, 1939"—I wrote We must learn to love one another or die, which is a great sentiment but not in fact what Wystan wrote in 1939. If only I hadn't attributed it.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derspatchel left a sign without words. In terms of public protest art, it's the best thing I have seen since the election. People took pictures and so did we. More people were adding notes as we left. I am very glad that the city is not taking it down.
We found a shrine.
I don't know what else to call it. I imagine most New Yorkers on my friendlist have seen it already, but I hadn't known it was happening. Because we were heading for the Strand, we took the Q train from Flatbush and 7th and got off at 14th Street–Union Square; we came upstairs through the turnstiles and I said suddenly and inaptly, "Oh, this is interesting." In front of us was a tiled wall of fluttering Post-It notes of all plain or office-perky colors, carefully excluding most of a newspaper advertisement and I think an offical sign from the MTA and otherwise as thick as mosaic. It continued around the corner, all the way to the foot of the stairs at the northwest corner. They said things like "Love is Love is Love is Love" and "Call your elected officials regularly!" and "CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE" and "Love Trumps Hate Love you Hillary" and "Fired the FUCK UP" and "BE KIND ACT UP" and "Grieve the country you live in. Fight for that country's future" and "Even if you ignore everything else, the man is still incompetent as fuck!" One was a doodle of a dick and balls lettered with Trump's name. One was a two-note-spanning satirical prayer. They blew like aspen leaves every time a train went by, but did not come unstuck. People were writing and adding Post-It messages as we watched. We wrote our own. I totally let down the poetry-reading population of Manhattan by misquoting Auden's "September 1, 1939"—I wrote We must learn to love one another or die, which is a great sentiment but not in fact what Wystan wrote in 1939. If only I hadn't attributed it.
derspatchel left a sign without words. In terms of public protest art, it's the best thing I have seen since the election. People took pictures and so did we. More people were adding notes as we left. I am very glad that the city is not taking it down.
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I was so happy to see it.