Witching hour saunter
There is a happy round face that follows me wherever i walk in the new place i'm living in. the face follows slowly, but persistently. what does it tell me?
Differentiating past and present
I've been recognizing the present as it is. I try to walk backwards and forwards at the same time. I can detect the static things of the present, things that constantly remain. Drag race down the avenue, severed foot, black bags with ratfood, chimes hanging from fire-escapes, lost souls. The price of a beverage at the 24 hour spot has been increasing, accelerating without cessation. They still have 99ยข iced-teas in tallboy cans. When they disappear, i'll start looting.
The walk through the park is now a leisurely saunter from the polish bars to the hipster-infested "dives." I remember being afraid to walk through the corridor of london planes without a blade. I have pissed on the side-doors of the vocational school on the right too many times. It is dark at 3Am, but the darkness of the trek has dissipated. I could walk across the tar-courts on my hands and not have anything happen to me, wouldn't get mugged. And yet I feel a lack of charm in this safety. There exists an artificiality in the leisurely saunter through the park; I am falling in line with the class that's being pushed out. I need to conform to the proper financial bracket should I ever want to consider myself an independent here, for i do not have large parental subsidies. An independent: living away from the house I was raised in. Marketprices increase. I lose my money in half the time I would living up north. I would lose it in a quarter of the time if I wasn't careful.
The present passes blindly by blinded eyes. In this setting, my home, I crave the environment of the past, but with the knowledge of the present. I'd love to have known the people I now know back then. I would appreciate who they are now so much more.
Differentiating past and present
I've been recognizing the present as it is. I try to walk backwards and forwards at the same time. I can detect the static things of the present, things that constantly remain. Drag race down the avenue, severed foot, black bags with ratfood, chimes hanging from fire-escapes, lost souls. The price of a beverage at the 24 hour spot has been increasing, accelerating without cessation. They still have 99ยข iced-teas in tallboy cans. When they disappear, i'll start looting.
The walk through the park is now a leisurely saunter from the polish bars to the hipster-infested "dives." I remember being afraid to walk through the corridor of london planes without a blade. I have pissed on the side-doors of the vocational school on the right too many times. It is dark at 3Am, but the darkness of the trek has dissipated. I could walk across the tar-courts on my hands and not have anything happen to me, wouldn't get mugged. And yet I feel a lack of charm in this safety. There exists an artificiality in the leisurely saunter through the park; I am falling in line with the class that's being pushed out. I need to conform to the proper financial bracket should I ever want to consider myself an independent here, for i do not have large parental subsidies. An independent: living away from the house I was raised in. Marketprices increase. I lose my money in half the time I would living up north. I would lose it in a quarter of the time if I wasn't careful.
The present passes blindly by blinded eyes. In this setting, my home, I crave the environment of the past, but with the knowledge of the present. I'd love to have known the people I now know back then. I would appreciate who they are now so much more.
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posted by rada at 4:45 PM
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