While driving the great road home, the way I
usually do, I saw a cluster of buildings. At one time they were various banks
and edge companies, now they were all painted dark gray and just there, inert,
not drawing any attention to the change in shade or really, moving much
information at all. Why are they gray? Where are the names, the brandings? Why
are they hiding their tattoos from me? Is this new ‘lack of’ just a youthful
form of communication left to confuse?
As large empty broken down boxes bounced off
my car like long dead summer cats, or Frisbee dung, I swerved over to a fast
line, passing the crippled and slow, and got rebalanced on the roads edge. It
was the end of vacation when everything burns, and you think, what about hope?
It seems like it’s always been a land
of, “it could be worse” - a land of fixed asphalt ambitions canned in an open
area of get used to it. It’s like one big lesson on bondage – of binding things
and thoughts while hobbling anything else that moves until you can figure out
the proper way to bind it. It’s a bureaucratic molasses time, it’s industrial
mudville.
I would vote for anyone who would make this
shit stop. We have enough laws, enough cops, enough war – just do the best with
what you’ve got and stop taking about how you need more of whatever. If you
want more, spend less of what you got somewhere else. But mostly, stop talking.
I really don’t care about Republican or Democrat – I know that I won’t get
anything better than Obama, and Obama could have been better, though, again, it
could be worse. Just blow it up already.
I think of love in my 20’s and the sadness at
the memory of the newness -- of a time when even mistakes created wonder. It’s
a sad darkness that’s swells in me as I flash card through the time slices of
my past, until I remember that in a few years, the memory of anything other
than this writing will have become dried up words reflecting nothing but a wind
that used to blow.
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