So Im sitting

So Im sitting on my back porch watching a crew of garbage guys organize a huge pile of rubble. An entire collection of the Stuff that used to inhabit the entire house behind it. There is everything from the furniture to records and old books. All day up until now and all of yesterday, people have been parking near by and scavenging through this pile of forgotten saved posessions. Things that as a pile have none of the meaning that they did when they were each in their respective spaces. I have lived in my house on this little street for over seventeen years and in none of this time, have i ever gone over to that house. Not to say hello, not to know their names or who they are. And now they are gone. Maybe they died with unpaid bills and their life got evicted and dumped on the street. That house had been there way longer than mine. I wonder if they look at my house like the invasive cheaper popup that i see the house next door to me as. The one that cut down all our trees and chopped away all our flowers and vines to make a house, larger than necesary, a whole lot less classy and dry of character. My house appeared and made their litte yellow house cower in its shadow. To a degree that if trying to bring up the memory of my sight line from my house, the color of that house would only faintly be present. Its qualities hidden behind the girth of a permanent new shadow in the way of its sunshine. Its a little sad.

Suburban Sludge

And Thus Begins my life again. It starts with a long dark highway drive home through a cutout strip of what used to be thick forest. There is the monotonous view of dark trees on the perifery and the lone car in front of me that announces its steady distance from me with quiet radiating headlights. This lack of stimulation on the inside of my temporary lightning-proof home stirred my thoughts and I couldnt help but think about the suburban withdrawal from social space. We get into our car, commute to work in the silent safety behind the glass, get to where we are going with no bumbling in between, do our chosen career, get back into our car and get home. There is no room or time for distraction or learning or chance occurance or strangely timed accidents that make you wonder about fate or god or synchronicity. Its like a tunnel, cylindrical and straight. the walls are the dark woods that edge the straight highway. There is only straight to look, silence to hear, unstired air to touch. There is safety and comfort inside and weirdness and choas kept outside. stifled creativity trapped outside monotony. it makes me want to scream a bit. create a small hairline crack to penetrate the walls. Add a deer, see his eyes. Add a hitchhiker, see his needs. Add something. something unexpected. something to move the sludge of experience. something to inspire.
Truth is, its not so bad. Its just different. Home in the suburbs is nice to go to. Sometimes safety is necessary. sometimes the freedom to just know whats waiting for you is the most desirable. the certainty of the constance. Its quiet here and i can sit on my front yard with budding fruit trees on a blanket under the beating blinding brilliant sun and have a picnic with my brothers and my friends.
I spent all of yesterweek catching up with people i left behind, seeing one friend that i havent in over 5 years. what a dinner that was. another old friend, a really close old friend who i lost touch with for almost 3 years. nice to see how life moves you.
I like how life just happens and the only way to keep up with it is to match it in strength and agility and momentum. Life is funny like that.


I made up a new word yesterday. Agiler. means more agile but uses less words.