It is 10:14 Lets see about an hour.
If you had seen me today, it would have been swaying to the beat at Spyhouse, I was trying to keep my posture, but it bent the way it wished sometimes. Depending on the time, the music would have been old blues, or maybe James Brown, or maybe Mumford and Sons. I was sitting and sometimes standing at the counter near the far end of the room to the right of the entrance. Near the windows.
Reading about radical Christianity or drawing the people around me.
I must have looked strange, my hair all wrapped up on the left side, and wild on the right. This boy out of a comicbook, a child's story. Dark t shirt and wearing pants in this heat.
Continually moving... whats wrong with this boy in the glasses?
What is he reading, and how can he concentrate while moving?
Or if you were the girl at the table, why does this kid keep looking at me?
I was drawing her, sort of, a scrimmage session, all practice for skill building.
You see every part of you had to be done differently, the bun of your hair, locked up was these slinky like doodles, and the rest of your hair just horizontal lines placed consecutively so as to give some semblance to the different strands and textures. That yellow hair band, wrapping your hair and your ears, straight lines with a sharpie gave a shape to the folds of the cloth well enough, and as for the rest of you, I tried to give these geometric shapes a chance to show the roundness of your cheeks, the straight lines of your jaw. Trouble was I think the variety lost your form, your skinny arms became blurred into something more rounded, your chest almost made invisible, your eyes, perhaps the most capturing of all your features were lost entirely... but maybe that's because I didn't have glass sky blue amongst my tools.
Anyway I am glad I didn't have to show it off, you and your friend seemed quite content, uttering tiny bits of practiced Spanish to each other amongst your own scribblings. Perhaps you were lovers, all leaning in close and smiles. His dark features seemed perfect fantasy island contrast with yours. People probably say you make a handsome couple. You'll have him clean up nice and shaven for the wedding, treasured sepia colored wedding photos. Maybe another smattering with the color mixed up to bring out your eyes, the matching bouquet in your hands and the blue flower in his lapel.
These you can show to your children, who will not recognize mom and dad in those sweet youth filled images they have come to cherish.
I was reading about a pastor, found in his faith, righteous and pushy, yet relational and caring. How to keep amongst his flock, the congregation admires his vigilance, his worldliness, his realness... but they also hate him. Hate him for the words that call into question their existence. His existence, they utter in their minds, "you know we pay you" they want to say, "you shouldn't be so preachy" they think without recognizing the irony of the words.
Calls into question existence, I wonder, am I on the right path, I wonder as I sway to the beat of the music on the soundsystem, how do they choose it, I always wonder as I listen, wondering how much effort they put into a choice of which music to sway to, to take money to, to steam milk to, to grind coffee to, to clean cups and glasses to, to refill toilet paper to, to take compliments and tips to, to take complaints and growls to, to fantasize and dream to, to sing the ins and out of their day to.
Writing poems in their minds, these the folks who program computers, who write papers, who plan classes, who grade papers, who start businesses, who draw people, who talk over coffee, who daydream with stimulants doing the work of their adrenal glands, who read the city pages, who read books, who read webpages, who bike here, take the bus here, walk here, drive and hope for a specific spot on the street that they are used to. Work in the neighborhood, eat at the diner with the bad waitresses who aren't bad waitresses, drink at the bar with the good margaritas and the mexican revolutionaries on the wall, pho at a half a dozen places, stop to look at the string art, shun the dunn bros (today), thousands of memories on this street in this neighborhood in this city, want that for their children, the children in the day care down the street/ scratch that, none of these people have kids. But some have friends who are little.
Is the art on the walls instagram photos? That's like someone else doing all the work, no? Don't you wish it were something more inspiring? How do they come up with this? meaning like A) do you think this is just the kids down the street at MCAD? and B) don't you think you could do better? How much would you charge? What do you mean you haven't done art in years, didn't I see you sketching earlier? whatevs, you really can't take a compliment can you(smirk)..?
Why does that guy keep going to the bathroom, he seems really anxious, maybe too many cups of coffee, too much dancing, what a weirdo, seems like he has the bladder of a two year old, I haven't been to the bathroom in hours, I wonder if there is something wrong with me, its like 100 degrees out I should probably be drinking water instead of coffee, oh well, I am only human, back to work, I am never going to finish this assignment.
11:01 didn't make it.
I have more thoughts, but not on this, and maybe not things I want to share right now.
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