| Enough It's enough to to be here, temporarily enshrined in the upper room of the fabulous all-in-one store, cafe, and coffee refinery. The aroma of roasted beans drew me from blocks away, the scent like silk scarves floating on the afternoon breeze threading through the emptiness in my tongue and stomach. This morning, first light, in another neighborhood, far from here, a different shop entirely greeted me, dark, dank, infused with earthy character. After the chocolaty java breakfast I walked for a time with punks, dreadlocks, pink-and-purple hair dye, nose rings, and plaid pants with army boots. Tonight I'm going back downtown dressed to the nines, to the neon upscale to take in some quality entertainment. From gallery to park to sculpture garden, wandering along the way, humidity and tree-smells, cool, all of it pulls me and slides it's way into (my) memory/place. Tomorrow, I'll screw up my courage and sneak my unblending self into a crowd of bohemians to watch the living breathing landscape of lowbrow craziness, take in the two-hour fill and slink away, hopefully unnoticed and unbothered. I'm alone, and miss my kids. I'm alone, finally, first time in months, far from home, in the land of the thirty-mile city crowded and crowned with towers. I like to stand at their feet, staring straight up and feeling small. Where will tomorrow find me? Surburbia? I think not, unless just to drive the streets to make them mine. Maybe in another 48 hours, every one of them counted, when it's time to pack up, I'll have grown bored with the emporiums full of candles and incense, antiques and silver jewelry and the very otherness of the whole experience will have lost its appeal. There's a strange fire inside that keeps me going, walking, wide awake, without hunger. My own art would look great here, could feasibly adorn a number of these businesses. As for the coffee bars and cabarets, I can see myself on their open mikes stirring anger into counsel in a controlled rant and a muted scream. It's why I am here now, just to breathe in the pollution. the heartbeat; why just being here is enough, even though it's not. PamEhli/2002 |
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| Since 1-20-02 |