Its chimes make light of this dismal plight
Is this what life is all about?
my apartment for 10 months - foreground. current tallest residential building in seattle - behind
Is it live or is it Memorex? Is it Seattle or is it Toronto?
The space needle gazes its "googie" eyes at its squat late 70's office complex neighbor and quips: "didn't you capitalists learn the first time about building too many glassy hollow boxes?"
Ziggurats in search of a culture
New York has Lincoln Center, this is the Fillmore Center in comparison
oh to touch and to feel you, mama
oh I just can't keep away
in the heat and the steam of the city
ooh, it's got me running and I just can't brake
Everybody's going uptown
That's where I wanna be
Uptown set your mind free
It's fitting that I was fired from this building - for standing out and suggesting something better could rise in its place.
okay, doc, I see... two letter k's humping
I swear, they seem to be coming out with the Dulles new buildings these days
hint: neither of them are locked out of their apartment.
So I can find my way back to bed...
Downtown begins here
I've looked at clouds from both sides, now
hey WaMu, the feeling's 'mutual' - I'm bankrupt, I'm moving out of state, and I'm letting more responsible people sort out what's left of me.
I awkwardly received the change and tried to wedge it in my pockets just like she wedged my potato wedges into a translucent white bag, joining pre-placed extra napkins and straw, the ghetto version of setting the dinner table.
I tossed in some salt and pepper then blurted "I'll see you next time" as I confronted the red-sharpie homemade sign on the door. "There will be no next time," she replied. I blushed with embarrassment at the paper which still smelled like marker and remained curiously translucent and white just like my bag. Just like I could spot a rogue onion slice through the membrane she could see my red cheeks from behind. "Come again soon!" she said.
I began to laugh and said, "well, don't you actually mean..." trying to lighten the mood, but instead I sank the moment into the last vat of frying oil as the chirp of the door chime masked my response: "okay, I will."
Somehow I imagine that the real Dearborn has streets just like so.
What would a Filipino doctor do if he found out they named this bridge in a city he's never been to after him?
Refuting the idea that Seattle's always rainy and that majority-African American neighborhoods are not that nice
But these trees were planted here on purpose and hide what's behind:
What is the logic of hiding the existence of the highway and city below? Curiously enough, it's the same logic that allowed the tunnel to exist at all, the country's second most expensive utilization of highway funds - while pretty, it's using nature as a tool to keep people from having to see what's beyond.
It's special not because it's hard to access what should be an easy sight, but it's special because it's the last mile of the United States' longest highway. Whether you are overjoyed with the finale of a long trip, or just about to embark on one, there's no doubt that a lot awaits people on either end.
Back in the days when we named places after the actual geographic feature that comes to mind, Rainier Valley seems refreshingly obvious. Yet it sat ignored in favor of a neighborhood that was instead named after the geographic feature it was to become - the Denny Regrade.
As a result you have a latchkey neighborhood in search of a loving parent. Feeling the towering presence of God in the form of Mount Rainier is cold comfort for the unattended children who lack the sidewalks on which to draw with pink and purple chalk, as just beyond view their dad fights with his countrymen for a chance to earn a paycheck at the day labor site.
But it's not all depressing - when you see an indio Mexican family hop out of their Chevy truck, dad still white with construction dust and paint shellac mom still wearing the recognizable uniform of a ubiquitous American occupation, the fast-deploying, drill-marching, obedient-to-superiors fast food employee, and when you see their kids argue back and forth in the vernacular of Mattel commercials and Babysitter's Club novellas about why they couldn't have gone to McDonald's instead, the American identity, always described as an intangible idea suddenly becomes corporeal.
Inhabiting this neighborhood has taught me to appreciate the houses that keep on housing and the people who keep on working in a place where nobody's watching or caring. You can walk past empty lots, down streets with no pedestrians, shopping centers without stores, parks with no dogs or kids and finally think for a change. I'll never run into someone I have to dress up for, I'll never be a 'regular' or even know my neighbor's names. That sounds sad, but I like it. I love the fact that I live in a city where so much green seems to render the forest inseparable from the trees.
I've never seen more than one person at a time on this 1/2 mile-long stretch of path. That means there's more for me - I get to "monopolize" the view.
Being alone in a city without family or friends came at a steep price. However, it is a price assuaged by free million-dollar views I'll never afford and moments alone that can only be forced on you without recourse. If I had the friends, career, sobriety and mental health that society says I should have, I would never have been given moments alone like these.
Good morning from Seattle, pushing forward like always with or without me.
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