whitecrow
02-27-05, 09:19PM
This is just a taste of what I've been writing today. I would post it all, but it's err...four pages long and would bore the crap outta ya.
Tell me, what do you think of my new gear?
HONESTY, PLEASE!
I’ve lived here almost my whole life. Well, the most part of my life that I can remember. My father used to tell stories of the place we used to live when I was so much smaller. Father doesn’t tell stories anymore. Having passed on so many years ago, it kind of put a cramp in his telling. Greenfield. This place so inaccurately named so many years ago. It sits in this valley, smallest of small rolling hills on all sides but one. On the tallest of them, they built a weather station and a look out. Not many people other than the scientists who like to pretend to be able to read those measurements come up here. Not many people but me. I come up here all the time.
You can see it all from up here, even if you’re not very high off the ground. The few and far in between trees, the main street, the side streets, the way that Greenfield just abruptly stops, like it was a sneeze or an afterthought. This place, it’s only ten miles from one end to the next. It’s only an hour from what we pretend is a city, it’s only nowhere from anything that’s anywhere.
Tonight, I can see the streetlights, I can see the cars speeding over the limit, running the pointless red lights. I can see the movie complex, advertising films that were out last month, but new here. I can see the four car yards, each one pretending to be different from the next. Each one owned by the same guy. I can even see the street where my house is. It’s one of a few curved streets here. Most are straight criss-crossed, as if the plans were some kind of crossword. Most people don’t even notice or care. But I do. I like curvature, I like the way you can’t really predict it. I like it’s smoothness, like the hips of a beautiful woman, or the drops cascading off a waterfall.
Tell me, what do you think of my new gear?
HONESTY, PLEASE!
I’ve lived here almost my whole life. Well, the most part of my life that I can remember. My father used to tell stories of the place we used to live when I was so much smaller. Father doesn’t tell stories anymore. Having passed on so many years ago, it kind of put a cramp in his telling. Greenfield. This place so inaccurately named so many years ago. It sits in this valley, smallest of small rolling hills on all sides but one. On the tallest of them, they built a weather station and a look out. Not many people other than the scientists who like to pretend to be able to read those measurements come up here. Not many people but me. I come up here all the time.
You can see it all from up here, even if you’re not very high off the ground. The few and far in between trees, the main street, the side streets, the way that Greenfield just abruptly stops, like it was a sneeze or an afterthought. This place, it’s only ten miles from one end to the next. It’s only an hour from what we pretend is a city, it’s only nowhere from anything that’s anywhere.
Tonight, I can see the streetlights, I can see the cars speeding over the limit, running the pointless red lights. I can see the movie complex, advertising films that were out last month, but new here. I can see the four car yards, each one pretending to be different from the next. Each one owned by the same guy. I can even see the street where my house is. It’s one of a few curved streets here. Most are straight criss-crossed, as if the plans were some kind of crossword. Most people don’t even notice or care. But I do. I like curvature, I like the way you can’t really predict it. I like it’s smoothness, like the hips of a beautiful woman, or the drops cascading off a waterfall.