The old arena again, this time the back corner of the building, passed by today while walking with pooder. Beautiful AND sexy, the can reclines whilst awaiting its owner to heat it up once again...I mean, that's what I'm assuming anyway. Kids aren't shotgunning cola now, surely....Wandering some of my childhood streets and remembering the old ley-lines of freedom, and the power points where the pathways met up; schoolyards, dirt hills on the edge (what used to be the edge) of town, that hidden grave-yard behind a strip mall, any place where foliage was allowed to grow unchecked--therein hidden caches of cigarette butts, empty booze bottles, moldy porn mags, rusty bicycle frames entangled in the overgrowth.
One of my best memories of my hometown--racing home late on my bike, fall, streets empty and cold, hypnotized by the thrum of my tires on the asphalt. Beady stars overhead blinking through bare gothic branches.
The grid of this town a frame that I've thrown successive canvases over, painting them with the obsessions of the moment. The mystery and magick I once attempted to infuse it with now replaced with questions--could I live here? What are the house prices like? Who the fuck lives here anymore? Well it has been a long time since I attempted to make friends with this place. Maybe it's best we remain...acquaintances, for now at least.
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