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Eu queria muito

Eu queria estar perto e poder abraçar. Queria estar perto e poder olhar nos olhos e dizer o quanto é importante pra mim. Queria poder carregar para tantos lugares que iria sozinho (eu ou ele, n importa). Queria poder fazer rir. Queria poder deixar chorar. Penso em tanta coisa que queria…
Mas sei que uma hora vou poder.

Mas isso não deixa as coisas mais leves agora. A distância é tão grande…

Mas saiba : eu não deixo de pensar em você nem um segundo.

Prefiro dirigir sozinha pois posso ouvir o que quero sem me preocupar com qualquer outra pessoa dentro do veículo.
Prefiro passear sozinha pois tenho a liberdade de ir onde quiser, permanecer quanto tempo quiser e ir embora quando quiser.
Prefiro ir ao cinema sozinha pois ninguém fica falando comigo durante o filme.
Prefiro viajar sozinha pois isso me permite fazer meus próprios horários, roteiros e gastar meu tempo como eu bem entender.
Só não gosto de comer fora sozinha. Nessas circunstâncias, gosto de ter alguém pra conversar. Mas não é como se eu sofresse quando não tem ninguém pra me acompanhar.

Tenho passado tanto tempo fazendo o que os outros querem, quando e como querem e levando porrada na cara de volta, que quando tenho tempo pra mim, quero ele seja apenas meu.
Não chamo de egoísmo. Na verdade eu não sei como chamar, mas egoísmo não é. E a única coisa que lamento é não ter mais tempo pra poder viver assim.

americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
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americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info
americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK
The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.
Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.
In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home. 
My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.
I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad. 
Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money. 
Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be. 
The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.
Guide note: For further reading… 
High Line History, TheHighLine.org
“When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.
“The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.
* * * 
Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar
Zoom Info

americanguide:

THE HIGH LINE - NEW YORK, NEW YORK

The first time I visited the High Line, I had to jump a fence and squeeze through a hole to get in. Back then, the mile-and-a-half long railroad trestle was abandoned and ruled by a wilderness of plants. Today it’s a public park, with elevators that take visitors 30 feet above ground and into an expertly designed garden in the sky.

Sometime after 1847, when a new 10th Avenue railroad put freight trains on a collision course with pedestrians, Manhattan’s “Death Avenue” earned its nickname. Accidents declined when the High Line opened in 1934 as part of New York’s “West Side Improvement” program. Innovatively designed, the railroad weaved above and to the side of businesses between 10th and 11th Avenues.

In 1980, the city shut down the High Line. Nature took over, quietly, like a secret. Birds and wind dispersed seeds onto the forgotten landscape and feisty plants like evening primrose, goldenrod and sumac made it their home.

My first trip was in December of 2006. One minute my husband and I were on bustling 34th street, the next we were alone in a wilderness. We walked the U-shaped tracks above the west side rail yards and reached a corrugated metal wall. A savvy explorer had cut a hole in the bottom and we shimmied through, greeted on the other side by a four-foot pine treedecked in Christmas lights. Wild plants snaked around splintered wooden tracks. To the east stood the Empire State building. A nest full of eggs sat at the top of loading station. And UFO 907, the space alien graffiti found in some of the most obscure and ostentatious spots in NYC, stood 10-feet tall on a wall marked by previous explorers, but we had the railroad to ourselves.

I would return to the High Line again and again, hooked on walking those tracks in solitude above the city. I snuck up even as construction to transform the railroad into a public park went full gear. Friends of the High Line, a group of preservationists, had won their long battle against the city, which had planned to demolish the railroad.

Decades before Friends gave Death Avenue a public life, there was Peter Obletz, a train aficionado who began living by the High Line’s north end in the 1970s, back when the infamously rough neighborhood served as a backdrop to Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Obletz dreamed of restoring service to the High Line and bought it for ten dollars from Conrail in 1984. Neighboring property owners and the Department of Transportation fought him in court for years. His struggle helped keep the High Line intact, even though he lost the case and most of his money.

Joel Sternfeld, who photographed the High Line from 2000-2001, also helped. His moody images gave New Yorkers a glimpse of a wild landscape most had never seen— and a hint of what could be.

The High Line opened to the public in April 2009. Foxtail lilies, prairie grasses, birch trees and hundreds of other plant species now surround visitors as they walk the 80-year-old trestle. The park also functions as a green roof, with pathways made of open-jointed planks that reduce storm runoff by up to 80%. What was once wild is now a carefully designed and well-tended garden. It is still beautiful.

Guide note: For further reading… 

High Line History, TheHighLine.org

When a Monster Plied the West Side,” New York Times, Dec. 22, 2011.

The Charming Gadfly Who Saved the High Line,” New York Times, May 13, 2007.

* * * 

Irene Tejaratchi Hess is a photographer, video editor and writer.  She was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx, where evenings brought the sweet song of the mourning dove and the low whistle of a mobster calling his kids home for dinner. Irene spent her early career producing natural history documentaries for the PBS series Nature. She now lives in Portland, Oregon and recently finished editing a documentary on the Marine National Monuments. Find more of her work on her website, www.IreneHess.com, and follow her on Tumblr at luxroxvox.tumblr.com.

Amor eterno por esse lugar

O meu problema

Assim como tenho percebido e venho aprendendo a lidar com muita coisas em mim que eu havia esquecido e /ou não sabia que eu possuia, e são coisas boas, tem várias coisas ruins que eu posso colocar junto.
As partes que estão dificeis estão muito dificeis, e as vezes por não saber como lidar, eu apenas “deixo rolar”, sem muito orgulho disso, confesso.
Meu problema é sentir demais. Meu problema é me preocupar demais. Meu problema é pensar demais, me importar demais, esperar demais. Meu problema é não me encaixar em lugar nenhum. Meu problema é ter um monstrinho que me acompanha 24h por dia há quase 2 anos e meio. E talvez nada disso seria um problema, se as outras pessoas fossem assim também. E elas não são.
Um parque pra alguns é apenas um parque, quando pra mim ele tem algo tão fundo e especial… Uma ponte, uma rua, um nome, uma música, um filme. O que para alguns tem solução simples, eu luto há muito tempo pra conseguir resolver e/ou me adaptar, chegando a um ponto onde sinto minhas forças quase esgotadas e uma vontade enorme de dar um tiro no peito. E eu continuo vivendo em espera. E quanto mais eu espero, mais as coisas se tornam cinzas, embaçadas e inseguras. Espera de não sei o que, de ir não sei pra onde, viver não sei o que, e nem ao menos com quem. Então eu deveria parar de esperar, eu deveria parar de sentir, eu deveria parar de pensar, de me preocupar e de querer arrumar soluções. E isso seria parar de ser eu. E eu já tenho sido eu tão pouco nesse lugar. Por falta de espaço, por falta de lugar, por falta de mim mesma? 
A ideia do tiro no peito se mostra cada vez mais interessante.

E tem muita gente que diz que tem orgulho de nós pelos nossos feitos ou qualquer e toda variante disso. Muitos acham que, devido nossas fotos e postagens em redes sociais, nós estamos ótimos e vivendo a melhor época de nossas vidas.
Mas acontece que ninguém pensa ou tenta pensar no que passamos pra chegar onde estamos. Ou onde estivemos.
Ninguém para pra pensar em tudo que a gente deixou pra trás. Tudo-que-a-gente-deixou-pra-tras. Tudo.
E ninguém sabe de todas as partes ruins. Mais do que não queremos que ninguém veja as coisas ruins, nós não queremos pensar nelas o tempo todo. Pq é pesado, e tanta coisa por trás que eles nem podem imaginar.
E eles acham que estão certos. E eles nunca vão saber o quanto estiveram errados até que vivam o que nós estamos vivendo. Ou vivemos.
Qualquer coisa sempre vai ser um exagero. Mas muitos deles também não aguentariam metade.
E de novo : ninguém nunca lembra de td que a gente deixou pra trás. E geralmente a gente deixou tanta coisa, que eles só vêem as coisas maiores. Eles não vêem as menores e muitas vezes mais importantes, porque não querem ver, ou simplesmente pq nunca irão saber.
Ninguém nunca sabe de tudo que a gente deixou pra trás.

Eu fico sozinha desde meus 8 anos de idade. E de acordo com o tempo, a quantidade de tempo e a forma cm ficava sozinha foi mudando e aumentando. Mas eu nunca havia experimentado uma solidão como a que tenho vivido. A parte boa é que tenho, sofridamente, confesso, aprendido a lidar com ela e às vezes gosto tanto dela que não trocaria por nada. Fiz todas as minhas viagens aqui nesse país sozinha, alguns dos melhores dias aqui eu estava apenas em minha própria companhia também. Mas o engraçado é que quanto menos sozinha eu quero ficar, mais eu fico.
Muita gente acha que estar aqui é uma maravilha, e olha, em grande parte é. Mas a parte que não é, é bem pesada.
Todo mundo acha que tudo está ótimo e perfeito, mas o que ninguém nunca parou pra pensar é que tudo que eu planejei, tudo que eu sonhei por meses, tudo que eu esperava… Nada aconteceu. Eu fui impedida de realizar meus planos, meus desejos conforme eu realmente desejei. Alguns deles acabaram saindo ótimos de qualquer forma. Mas eu confesso sim que sofro um pouco quando estou vivendo algum momento e penso em como eu tinha planejado algo tão diferente. Aqui, o que a vida mais me mostra é que eu não tenho controle sobre nada além das minhas próprias decisões. E somente isso. Mesmo assim tenho sofrido bastante por querer controlar muitas outras coisas. As vezes o pensamento que vem é “eu não tenho nada meu aqui. Será que não posso nem ter controle sobre minha vida?” e a vida sempre responde com um não bem grande, gordo e grosso na minha cara. Quem sabe uma hora eu aprendo. Quem sabe uma hora eu entendo tb que as coisas acontecem como tem que acontecer, e que se eu tô tão sozinha, é apenas pq eu preciso estar.

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