these days have been perfectly perfect, it's all part of the international weather consortium, just a series of days of mild weather and blossoms, just to foil and aggravate any designs I might be entertaing about going away. It's really not fair and I suspect it might be deliberate and not just seasonal -- who could possibly concieve of a more perfect March, in every fragant variation.
I sat happily in traffic tonight on the bay bridge, an unhappy artery at any time, and yet there I was in the slowest of slow lanes, tracking the sun's descent into the Pacific, there goes the orange distortion and there goes the last gasp, here I am expending my expensive gasoline, miles yet from home at this pace, but the windows are open to the ambient sounds of somebody elses screeching brakes and the citie's peculiar sound of building up. Pillars of half built vanity projects and new billboards, I find myself in a new landscape, where all my old visual cues have vanished to some other ether. I take my cues by rote and by landmarks, I find myself asking when did the BofA clock become a high rise, when exactly did it cease to be mine, when did I let progress dilute my idyll, where did these condos come from and when did I relinquesh the notion of "mine", when it was never really mine, I am just a denizen afterall, one of those flame-out glitterati of the remember- whens.... and it's only verging on fifteen years..... only. Only all of my cognizant adult life, only all of it, all here within the seven square miles, all peaks and valleys, and all of the metaphor and myth conjured between stop lights and cross walks.
I have grown weary of inertia.
Again I am beset by the queer legacy of equity, at what point, if ever, do we surrender to these fixed notions of adulthood, as if ownership and maybe even marriage were banners of honor. Closing in close to 36, which back in somebodies day would have been well into middle age, well past vielle fille and straight into maiden aunt* ....
* where could I go, where can I go*
* I have an answer.*
*at least, I think, at least I have been formulating....
I sat happily in traffic tonight on the bay bridge, an unhappy artery at any time, and yet there I was in the slowest of slow lanes, tracking the sun's descent into the Pacific, there goes the orange distortion and there goes the last gasp, here I am expending my expensive gasoline, miles yet from home at this pace, but the windows are open to the ambient sounds of somebody elses screeching brakes and the citie's peculiar sound of building up. Pillars of half built vanity projects and new billboards, I find myself in a new landscape, where all my old visual cues have vanished to some other ether. I take my cues by rote and by landmarks, I find myself asking when did the BofA clock become a high rise, when exactly did it cease to be mine, when did I let progress dilute my idyll, where did these condos come from and when did I relinquesh the notion of "mine", when it was never really mine, I am just a denizen afterall, one of those flame-out glitterati of the remember- whens.... and it's only verging on fifteen years..... only. Only all of my cognizant adult life, only all of it, all here within the seven square miles, all peaks and valleys, and all of the metaphor and myth conjured between stop lights and cross walks.
I have grown weary of inertia.
Again I am beset by the queer legacy of equity, at what point, if ever, do we surrender to these fixed notions of adulthood, as if ownership and maybe even marriage were banners of honor. Closing in close to 36, which back in somebodies day would have been well into middle age, well past vielle fille and straight into maiden aunt* ....
* where could I go, where can I go*
* I have an answer.*
*at least, I think, at least I have been formulating....
posted by emma at
12:48 AM
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