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July 21, 2006 (A)At the Swap Shop, it is beautiful. A veritable country of tables, booths, and buildings filled with everything for sale. That hot sun smiles down on this. Where do all the vendors come from? We all move through the summer afternoon like a cool slow breeze. Watches, sunglasses, towels, clothing, power tools, jewelry, yet these do not touch the surface. The man with the money looks through music for CCR, and the others look for what they look for. Tanned. The world is tanned. The world is a sure bet in the sun, a few weeks before hurricane season and hurricane shutters. God made salt air for the righteous, and it is the reward. If they sought anything more, it was only ego. Salt air must suffice. You find the glory of it. Reject the evil one and all his glamour. But its funny, the things people will say. The middle aged fat lady sitting in the dress is pointing to her goods, and they are on tables, and on the ground, and all around. But it is what she is saying that catches my ear. ‘ That is hot. That is not. That is hot. That is not. That is hot. That is not.’ However, I think, what if there is a cop around? I am not a local though, and perhaps I don’t get it. Life is more than words, there is the strong sun, and so perhaps the heat does not always act in the heat, but just moves along, or even makes a purchase. (B)At the Casino, there is a beautiful waterfall, and the crashing sounds soothe. The building is so large, ready to encompass all the visitors. We sit and watch the valet parking. There are the regular folks, and there are some wealthy folks, and there are others. The land around there is natural, and its funny the things that humans build given the chance. They build what they want for a Saturday night, what the majority wants anyhow, and the rest of us assume this must be the right way. Just inside, a short man in jeans, with bad teeth, but with that youthful and lean build that remains in many manual workers into mid life and beyond. He is wearing a t-shirt and has two receding hairlines and some longish hair in back. He is trying to get the attention of his friend down the way. He takes the small plastic bucket for coins, and turns it upside down and puts it on top of his head. It keeps falling off, so he has to hold it there. He yells over to his friend, ‘ Look, I’m a Jew!’ At this one, I laugh to myself, but not because of his joke. I laugh at the inbred rural self-stylized clown, and think how I would rather be a Jew than a scrap metal collector. (C) In the deep downtown weeknight of the world, we are in a big restaurant, but it is nice that there are not many crowds around. I have to meet these people because they are friends of hers, and some of them are studying the same things. Only I am beat, and tired, and it shows. However, one of them, as we are talking, says, ‘ What is the matter? Need some coke?’ I am shocked. It’s a bit like when someone makes a negative connection to you, but not quite, as he is nice, and though somehow I know he doesn’t have any coke, he is just saying it in matter of fact way, and without judgment, as, ‘ What is the matter? Do you need an anti-histamine?’ I tell him no, that its nothing like that, that that’s not me. He talks about drugs plenty. He says he did Peyote, and it lasted days, and as soon as he thought it was over, it kicked in again, and there he went. He said he absolutely loved drugs. To make conversation, I told him that his friend was a Leo. He said he knew that. I told him that even though she was not out of this world, she had a certain twinkle in the eye that some of those have, and that has been written about. He shocks me by explaining about this very twinkle and its connection to Leo women. I do not know what else he knows, or exactly why he knows that, and was able to articulate it the exact way I was about to. It goes on for a bit like that. It is a good time, a free time, but marked with an undercurrent of sadness. All such nights are like that. (D)The box spring and mattress on the floor. An old reading chair. A National Geographic map of the constellations on the wall. There is a hole in the screen of the window. That neighborhood was changing fast. It was becoming Chinese. The ravine had matured though, and now the trees blocked the view of the condominiums across the back and on the other side of the hill. The tape played the song where the girl kept singing, ‘ I want to be haunted by the ghost, haunted by the ghost, haunted by the ghost, of your precious love.’ Outside it began to pour. The night was always pregnant but with what? Nothing actually happened, not really. The trees on the boulevard had become huge, and a car would go past now and then. That pavement, that climate, was strong, and vast, and no matter what people went there during those years, and lived, and drove and walked, it would stand strong. That infrastructure had not really seen humanity, only some light footsteps of it. That began to change. The hordes of the earth are spreading out. They have no time for a map of the constellations, or the girl singing the song. They have things to do. Or so I’ve heard. See, as the drummer said, the heartbeat of the world once went boom,…boom,…boom,…boom. Now it goes boom boom boom boom. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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