"That which is overdesigned, too highly specific, anticipates outcome; the anticipation of outcome guarantees, if not failure, the absence of grace."
-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
"My head is full of voices, and my house is full of lies."

Home.

Long flight, nothing to expound upon.

Pete was awesome enough to leave newly delivered Indian food cooling to pick my ass up, then drop me at Doobies (above and beyond, that). Hanging out with the kids (and Andy B's father, who seemed to deal with us pretty well) for four hours, standing outside in the cold for twenty minutes discussing the finer points of Bratwurst creation and gestation, then walking down to Broad for a taxi.

Driver a not-so-recent emigrant of some African country, his accent sliding from straight up South Philly to something entirely other. Bob Marley piped through the cab speakers; songs I've never heard before, but on some gestalt cultural level I know, definitively, that it's Bob Marley and not some just some reggae.

Graffiti on the back seat: A poor man's rainbow and clouds proclaiming "Another Rainbow Day"; a guerilla advertisement for some clothes shop on South St., and someone's response: "I went there!"

"Shakespeare Rules", bracketed by dual lightning bolts, no doubt the work of some UArts or Temple kid.

And now to sleep, the city's skyscrapers hazy through winter night on the west side of Broad St., cupped in the foreground by row housing and streelamps.

Home.

January 7, 2005 1:31 AM
Comments

Gadzooks, Bryan. The next time I see you, I'm totally slapping you around with the HAPPY stick. Wait - that didn't sound right. Maybe I'm going to totally fill you up on the HAPPY cookies. There. That sounds a little less awful.

Posted by: calliope at January 7, 2005 2:33 PM

Mmm, happy stick...

Posted by: ejp at January 7, 2005 4:01 PM
Post a comment









Remember personal info?