Meanwhile, it's April
Well, well, well. Time is just cruising by. It isn't going fast or slow; it's just out for a drive. Here I am, kicking it in the passenger seat, window down, watching the lovely houses, busy bodies, dog-walkers, wet ground. I can't actually tell you who's driving. This is a question I've been considering for the last day or so... who the fuck is driving?
And yet another metaphor, (jeebus bless you for staying put for it): About a week ago, I wandered around the Flood Building in San Francisco. It's about a hundred years old and probably shifted the stability of the earth as the old-timers piled marble walls beside marble stairs that linked marble floors to marble ceilings. The building's bones survived the 1906 earthquake and maybe the addition of all that marble kept it nice and intractable. Anyhoo.
The halls of the Flood Building are like an optical illusion, except they're real. They stretch on and on in their glowing and smooth opulence, the grey veins in the rock swirl from floor to ceiling and back, then along the floor like an encroaching fog. The only reference points for the eyes are the old hardwood and frosted glass doors, lined up along either side of the hallway, repeating in perpetuity or at least until the hall zigs to the left or zags to the right and circles back on itself.
Here's the metaphor: I'm standing here, in this cloud of gleaming white and grey, staying upright by looking only at the doors to my right and left, but wondering about the scores of doors ahead as they define the line ahead of me. The doors on either side of me are closed as well, of course, because this is an indulgent metaphor that barely masks my frustration at waiting in this hall. I'm patient, wanting to get along the hall, to knock on other doors, but I'm waiting because on either side of these two doors beside me are a few people who may or may not want to invite me in. They won't tell me and I'm so peaceful in my anticipation that I stand pleasantly just waiting to greet them kindly should anyone appear to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Alright, do you want a translation? Why am I bothering to wait around for some folks who don't even have the courtesy to let me know whether they want me to do a lot of work for them for barely any money? Oh oh! Wait, did I mention that I am already working for one of them for nothing? Yeah. I like it like that.
Someday, maybe, I'm going to cruise on by those two doors, maybe in that car, that I'll be driving! I'll drive it down the marble hall of the Flood Building! I'll drive it like a girl racer, squealing around the corners and making all the doors open. And I'll drive it hard, revving loudly, crunching gears, crashing through puddles to put some marks on the marble. Yeah, I'll be the driver, mixing my metaphors at every corner! Watch out!
And yet another metaphor, (jeebus bless you for staying put for it): About a week ago, I wandered around the Flood Building in San Francisco. It's about a hundred years old and probably shifted the stability of the earth as the old-timers piled marble walls beside marble stairs that linked marble floors to marble ceilings. The building's bones survived the 1906 earthquake and maybe the addition of all that marble kept it nice and intractable. Anyhoo.
The halls of the Flood Building are like an optical illusion, except they're real. They stretch on and on in their glowing and smooth opulence, the grey veins in the rock swirl from floor to ceiling and back, then along the floor like an encroaching fog. The only reference points for the eyes are the old hardwood and frosted glass doors, lined up along either side of the hallway, repeating in perpetuity or at least until the hall zigs to the left or zags to the right and circles back on itself.
Here's the metaphor: I'm standing here, in this cloud of gleaming white and grey, staying upright by looking only at the doors to my right and left, but wondering about the scores of doors ahead as they define the line ahead of me. The doors on either side of me are closed as well, of course, because this is an indulgent metaphor that barely masks my frustration at waiting in this hall. I'm patient, wanting to get along the hall, to knock on other doors, but I'm waiting because on either side of these two doors beside me are a few people who may or may not want to invite me in. They won't tell me and I'm so peaceful in my anticipation that I stand pleasantly just waiting to greet them kindly should anyone appear to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Alright, do you want a translation? Why am I bothering to wait around for some folks who don't even have the courtesy to let me know whether they want me to do a lot of work for them for barely any money? Oh oh! Wait, did I mention that I am already working for one of them for nothing? Yeah. I like it like that.
Someday, maybe, I'm going to cruise on by those two doors, maybe in that car, that I'll be driving! I'll drive it down the marble hall of the Flood Building! I'll drive it like a girl racer, squealing around the corners and making all the doors open. And I'll drive it hard, revving loudly, crunching gears, crashing through puddles to put some marks on the marble. Yeah, I'll be the driver, mixing my metaphors at every corner! Watch out!
posted by your friend at Tuesday, April 11, 2006
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home