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one glove lost
the other thrown away
our spring walk





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Taqueira

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

taqueira, 2 a.m. --

back sliders and night riders
the only ones here

Year Of The Rabbit (2011)

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It was New Year's Eve. Inexplicably, the lads had started to balk at raising a little Hell. I was starting to get impatient.

"Gimme that damn thing ..."

 I was throwing on layers against the cold. Last of all, the pak boots; you must keep your feet warm, or all is lost.

I stopped for a moment to admire them, the way they looked, how they felt. I carefully tucked my jeans in, blousing them just right. They reminded me of soldiers in the Great War, their mud-stained puttees, crouching in trenches, dirty fingernails and sweat-drenched brows. As of late it felt we all languished in trenches in this old part of the city.

"What about the cars? We can't put it in the middle of the street."

"Fuck 'em. This is our street, ain't it?" 

A half-smile grew on young Brad's face - out of nervousness or admiration, I couldn't say.

"It was you guy's idea in the first place, right?"

Their uncertainty was starting to piss me off.  KC was still apprehensive. He hadn't seen me this way for a long, long time.

"We'll miss the opportunity. C'mon!"

Quickly now, our boots sounded down the stairs, only thirteen steps into perdition and winter's ire. I stopped and put my hand up like some point man on patrol. 

"Wait for it."

A quick scan of the street for trouble, not to mention the police. Fifteen minutes past midnight and a few cars might still be on the prowl. As luck would have it, we were able to march directly to the middle of the road. By coincidence, the storefront church across the way was just letting out. It was the only inhabitant on a block of boarded up businesses, their ramshackle fronts the only clue to a bustling, bygone era. The congregation eyed us with trepidation.

Another day, another new religion, from the old chapel back home, another class of migrants making their way. River City singing the praises of history's rhyme, exactly as the century before.

Kneeling on the center line, I produced a lighter from my pocket: 'guaranteed to have a thousand lights'. Headlights glimmered, timeless and magical in the distance of season and snow.

"Move your hand - get your face outta there."

A few tries with even more muttered oaths produced an alluring hiss and sparkle. We stood up quickly just as a beat-up SUV drunkenly rounded the corner. I made a motion for the driver to stop, causing him to honk his horn incessantly.  Standing my ground, legs wide apart, I pointed my index finger sternly.

"Hold it right there, buddy!"

Precisely at the moment a barrage of fireworks erupted into a thousand showers of glittering balls behind me.

Strobes of colored light illuminated the old brick buildings while an explosion of cracks and whistles amplified and echoed down their narrow alleys through the icy night air. In an open window above, little Izzy jumped up and down, clapping his hands with joy while the lady of the house bellowed a drunken, "Happy New Year!"

A few more cars appeared, slowing down in caution. After a time they sped past the gunpowder's roar, gunning their engines in annoyance, or, could it have been delight? I couldn't be sure, though the patrons of Iglesias Cristiana Cedros del Libano appeared enthralled at our display. Was this a tradition in their home country?  I didn't care. I just couldn't stop grinning. 

Out of the corner of one eye, I noticed a movement deep in the darkness of the alley.

Mother rabbit -- leaping adrift and back again, never to touch down.


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weather report

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*** Traffic snarls an aptly named Payne Avenue ***


Saturday, December 11, 2010
Dateline: St. Paul, Minnesota

Blizzard conditions struck at the heart of the most boring city in America today as thousands were stranded in their homes by blowing snow and sub-zero wind chills, left to enjoy family dysfunctions and frozen, leftover turkey ala-king.




*** An impressionistic scene greeted St. Paulites - maybe DaDa ***


On the city's East Side, a once solid working class neighborhood gone to seed, home to many at-risk residents from such diverse backgrounds as Thai refugee camps, the bullet riddled streets of Mogadishu, the 'Rust Belt's' depleted cities from Chicago to Cinncinati, or gentrified local neighborhoods from Selby-Dale to Frogtown, many braved the adverse conditions to go out for a pack of cigarettes, a gallon of milk, or a 40 ounce of Pigs-Eye beer.




*** A stalwart performs Minnesotan Tai-Chi ***


"I only have a block to go", stated a woman stuck on a major thoroughfare. Dressed in a slinky spring outfit, she was apalled to find her 1986 sub-compact was unable to traverse hip-deep drifts.




*** an early casualty of the storm ***


"Why did that guy stop?" asked a man who stopped in front of another, who had to stop in front of another, who was stopped in front of another, and so on. Momentum seemed key to vehicular movement. "It's the blind leading the blind," quipped an old timer from the safe vantage of his crumbling porch. "What a cluster f**k!" he cackled. Slogging through the accumulated snow on foot or by sled dog team had quickly become the only means of travel.




*** a local wag defies S.A.D. ***


Snow accumulations are expected to reach 16 to 20 inches by midnight. Tomorrow, forecasts are for temperatures near -4 degrees fahrenheit with windchills below -40.




*** wearing multiple layers, a woman noted, "I have to pee!" ***


;;; play it loud

.

nICK,

lOOKING UP hEIDEGGER NOw.
wHAT DOES THE TEXT READ IN/THIS PHOTo?

cONTEMPLATING dEATH,
i CHUCKLE/AT MY pEASANT sHOEs


...

Meditation

 

 

meditation --
autumn rain
falls in layers



(photo: Nicholas Sorlien)

evening thunder
a homeless man
comforts his dog




Notes From The Gean