raquette river
we were sitting dormant
on the raquette river
you were staring into yourself
so i sat down on the bed
i guess to make you feel less alone
i guess to help myself out of that strange hole
skipping stones and watching ducks
the church tower was talking back
from above the trees
from across the line
and i forget what time it was
the families sat close in their pockets
and it occurs to me now that we are family too
i’ll try not to deny the kindness of strangers
method + details of safe places
(method)
whatever it is that’s enriching about spontaneity, is not factual. it’s some sort of natural instinct. to change something, just to change it, is usually a shallow cause, but when used in self-defense; self preservation, in a sense, to keep your soul safe, then maybe it’s understandable.
(details of safe places)
Even now, there’s this sounding of comfort. One ear touches the table, and the other is a drain for natural percussion. A gust to bend the page, an address of unison, in that of team chatter. The air passing through the mouth of my lid, and a hum to the couple the event. A plane that I refuse to look at. The quiet sound of two hundred something people, sliding in and past my day.
I’ll forget each and every one of them before I finish.
The sun hangs to meet the trees, and washes out all the color. The fairytale element that grows, dies, and relives in this park is enough for me. (This is a component of home.)
Following the circuit, a similar view, but a different element. Here, there is silence. (The silence is the device; to be alone with thought) Ideas transcend the body, so maybe the feeling comes from within. This place is one of order and solitude. Great for sorting the chemicals.
And someone enters with their dog, and my heart starts pounding. I’m only nervous because I feel exposed, and I guess that’s what I was getting at. A great place to sort yourself, by yourself.
Then this: A church, an abandoned bank, a day care, a parking lot. There’s nothing especially welcoming about it, but this is a magnificent place too. It’s sort of a sandbox, where you’re free to build, move, and create.
It’s kind of a metaphor to me when I’m here alone. Inside the lot, you’re chained from the outside world, on all sides. It’s the children in the playground. Nothing gets past the invisible walls except for their laughter. (youth) It’s the vacant lot next to the teachings; a line that separates the home from the rest of the world.
This is a similar place. This is an underground parking garage, which tethers the same kind of symbolism. All the things that make the other lot great get amplified by different boundaries. Here, the walls contain semi-permanent spirit pieces. (A reminder of those you know) It’s a proponent.
You meet people every once and a while, but generally, it’s a hidden thing.
Every so often, it becomes a beacon for the past. It wasn’t always a wonderful place. It takes on the mask of quick subculture dives. At this moment, it’s exactly that, but this phase is different.
There’s practically no spray paint. (usually is) Chalk, markers; shedding skin? Whatever it is, it’s great.
What gets me, is how quickly things become white again. When there’s shit on the walls, it usually disappears quite fast. But this? This has been here for months. It’s our gallery. “You can drerer anywhere” and “beautiful again”. It feels different, like a new era.
Now, another town. It’s damn cold, but it screams “this could be anywhere”. Draws me in, every time. Sitting in the brick spot next to the metal swing. I see the water tower and the bridge that gaps the train tracks. Yes, this is safe. And it could be anywhere.
*it’s not supposed to end like that. there were pages of places I went to over the course of a few months, but they’re missing*
What…
