introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kit Homes and Why There's a Lock on My (diary)Door early afternoon - tenth of august-nineteen days remaining- "mother can't you see i've got to live my life the way i feel is right for me....might not be right for you, but its right for me."~sarah mclachlin okay...so here's the scoop, cats. i never intended for so many people to be reading all of this stuff...when i started, it was just for me. i told a few people i was doing it as i became more secure with it and now, i just feel like too many people i know read...and its not just the poetry anymore...i don't know where the essays came from but i like the growing changing of my writing and i won't stop. i've decided, for awhile, to keep Periscope locked up unless otherwise given a password and username...and essentially, anyone that wants one can have one except those that i know and interact with on a daily basis. that having been said.... i woke up this morning to the drab grey and a phone call from work that wondered where i was because apparently, i was supposed to work. "oh, no, jim. see. i called off. its august and i won't be working any fridays this month unless i picked them up as extra shifts like i did last week. it must be a mistake. i'm leaving tonight." and then he clicked off the connection and that was that. i had a brief twinge of guilt. i could have easily showered and been ready to work in fifteen minutes. but...that bed....in the breezes of morning that have been non-existent in this sweltering heat of the heart of summer....i couldn't resist. and so i sent him an email wishing him a good morning and a lovely day at work. actually. i think i might have rubbed in that i was going back to sleep. i'm vicious in the morning. and then, i curled back up under the cotton floral sheets that my mother has had for years. i curled up on a bed that will be going with my sister this weekend and will be replaced with mattresses. i curled up and enjoyed the last of the egg carton sleep at the three foot from the floor elevation. and it was just about to be perfect. except that then, the breezes slowed in fury because they realized that they were blowing their kindness on unfeeling homes with the windows locked up tightly to keep in conditioned air. and i remembered again why i hate it here. >kit homes< i layed there then in the breezes of morning mourning the people who have forgotten to breathe air as it comes preferring more processed stuff to fill their lungs and i layed there listening to a chorus of air conditioners who moan and wail reacting to timers kicking them on... a melody of groans and high pitched squeals as if to wonder why they're working when the breezes are cool again when the rain has come and pounded down the haze if only for the night. and i think of trails of power following it back to a source and the riverbed is drying up on the other side of the damn while the turbines reel on restlessly for the demand in electricity to power central heating air conditioners in kit home plans like these and my mind wanders past the canned air industry to the other things about this place that no one seems to see. concrete castles and brick front houses where nobody ever really lives and cars that nobody can really pay for and mailboxes that match. they've got their clandestine entryway monument lit up at night to remind those passing of the wealth inside and their cul-de-sacs and the cul-de-sac parties, their big dogs kept in yards with invisable fences, nary a flower for who has time to spend in a garden? green shrubs will break up the lawn a bit.... and the mail lady comes in the truck from the government and the bills come in and the bills go out and the cars leave for work at the same time every day and the place pulses and breathes with housewives walking off calories ingested during yesterdays soap opera and the place has a voice like a woman breathless talking about september and how they'll all meet at the bus stop again this year and i wonder if they had the children to meet others like them or if there was a kernal of love before they got their very own kit home. and i looked out over my father's hill that he has turned into something beautiful and remember the reasons for coming here... more friends for the kids, a good school district... and hey, we'll have central air. but the central air broke years ago and we're the only house left with the windows open and i'm dying to get out to where the breezes know how to pass through the houses with the open windows. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .what came before. - .what happened next. a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017 |
||||||
|
||||||