Present Tense
The weather is the go-to topic in 2014 it seems. After the brutally cold Winter late Spring edging on Summer has been bipolar. The past two days have been gray and cold (by June standards). It has been good sleeping weather, but not what one would hope for after freezing to the core for the first half of the year.
Within me it has turned my thoughts to feelings of fall. Clearly by my sudden nostalgia over Halloween. As I stated previously that particular season energizes me, as does even looking at images from it.
One interesting thing I have contemplated is the East coast. Namely the New England area. Having caught up recently on a television show about the Revolutionary War and my constant affinity and curiosity about Native America I've been daydreaming about the time before the foundation of this country and what the land must have been like before the unfortunate advent of progress and "manifest destiny".
When I was younger, I did have interest in American history. I felt the youthful thrill and excitement over the 4th of July celebrations. Though that was as much about fireworks and summer as anything. But, even as a kid I dreamt of the past and what that world was like. Even if at the time I was only taught half-truths and myths in school about it. Yet, as an adult being more aware of history I still find a bit of wonder in the time.
I would love to visit New England at some point. Whether it is common for everyone or some fantasy in my own mind I often believe I can sense and "feel" the history of certain places. Clearly in New Orleans my love for the town is due in large part to the depth of history oozing out of every structure. Even here in Chicago I feel these energies.
When I've gone down by the Field Museum or walked through some of the untouched neighborhoods on the north side or even walking around Graceland and Rosehill cemeteries I can feel the history all around. It is palpable to me. It has a smell to it. The smell of time. Not at all a bad thing.
Nothing saddens me more than the stench permeating from the rubble of old buildings the city tears down. Much of my rage about the gentrification of my once beloved Boystown can be tied back to this. It is not that I see change as a bad thing. But, it is the history of a place that stirs much of my passion. And to see such history torn down in the name of progress is enraging. Clearly places like New Orleans understand the power of history by creating ordinances and laws preventing the destruction of structures that give the city part of its energy.
We have none of that here in Chicago it seems. There is only progress. All that is beautiful is torn down and replaced with uninspiring architecture meant to give the property owners the most income they can acquire, while pandering to the followers of the current trends. It causes me a certain level of pain. To care about a place, and to feel real passion for it. And see "progress" march in to eliminate all that was beautiful, because in the end money dictate that it be so.
But, yes, New England. I feel a certain draw to it because of the rich history there. One need not be a crazed, frothing patriot to appreciate the history of such a place. It is said to be the most beautiful in the fall. Perhaps someday I will get a chance to see that firsthand.
And here I am once again, talking about the past. I am fixated on it. Whether it be my own past or the past of a country or of the planet itself. I long for the past. For a different life during simpler times. Laughably an existence I have not really known outside of the "simple life" of my suburban upbringing.
Does the world become so dark and cruel as we get older that a person's natural inclination is to long for the elusive idea of "the past"? Perhaps it is the sensation that there is not much time left. As a child, days are long and time is endless. As an adult it seems the days rocket by faster and faster. Consumed by work and responsibilities. Suddenly a person can find themselves old having never even tried to do all the things they dreamed of.
In some random way, I can attempt to tie this all back into a topic that has come up the past couple weeks. Which is the annual Pride parade at the end of the month. For a myriad of reasons, I feel little desire to attend it while facing the usual grumbling opposition of people around me.
But the parade that will occur at the end of this month is not the parade I once attended ten years ago. Or 15 years ago. It is some parody of other past events I remember with great fondness. The history has been stripped away and some kind of new impostor has taken its place.
As stupid as it sounds, even an event like this has a history to it I remember feeling (though I'm not sure I want to say it has a smell). I remember the first pride parade I attended in the mid-90s. The street even at the main intersection of Roscoe and Halsted was practically empty. It wasn't the big affair like these days. There was a sense of something more important to it and equally a slightly dangerous air in being there. It was a different time.
When I lived in Lakeview, it was more about me having a party than the parade. It was just convenient that I was right there and participated on some level. I barely spent any time there during those years. Now, the neighborhood is different, the times are different and I am different. I attended last year simply because it was what I always did. And it was just another day of sunburn and drunkenness. There's certainly no meaning to it for me. Perhaps there would be if I didn't attend one year.
The present just seems to be uncomfortable, unwelcoming and painful. The future seems glum. The past is the only place that seems pleasant. This is not a healthy way to live I know. Does it speak to something about me and my character, or does it really say something about the world around me.
Within me it has turned my thoughts to feelings of fall. Clearly by my sudden nostalgia over Halloween. As I stated previously that particular season energizes me, as does even looking at images from it.
One interesting thing I have contemplated is the East coast. Namely the New England area. Having caught up recently on a television show about the Revolutionary War and my constant affinity and curiosity about Native America I've been daydreaming about the time before the foundation of this country and what the land must have been like before the unfortunate advent of progress and "manifest destiny".
When I was younger, I did have interest in American history. I felt the youthful thrill and excitement over the 4th of July celebrations. Though that was as much about fireworks and summer as anything. But, even as a kid I dreamt of the past and what that world was like. Even if at the time I was only taught half-truths and myths in school about it. Yet, as an adult being more aware of history I still find a bit of wonder in the time.
I would love to visit New England at some point. Whether it is common for everyone or some fantasy in my own mind I often believe I can sense and "feel" the history of certain places. Clearly in New Orleans my love for the town is due in large part to the depth of history oozing out of every structure. Even here in Chicago I feel these energies.
When I've gone down by the Field Museum or walked through some of the untouched neighborhoods on the north side or even walking around Graceland and Rosehill cemeteries I can feel the history all around. It is palpable to me. It has a smell to it. The smell of time. Not at all a bad thing.
Nothing saddens me more than the stench permeating from the rubble of old buildings the city tears down. Much of my rage about the gentrification of my once beloved Boystown can be tied back to this. It is not that I see change as a bad thing. But, it is the history of a place that stirs much of my passion. And to see such history torn down in the name of progress is enraging. Clearly places like New Orleans understand the power of history by creating ordinances and laws preventing the destruction of structures that give the city part of its energy.
We have none of that here in Chicago it seems. There is only progress. All that is beautiful is torn down and replaced with uninspiring architecture meant to give the property owners the most income they can acquire, while pandering to the followers of the current trends. It causes me a certain level of pain. To care about a place, and to feel real passion for it. And see "progress" march in to eliminate all that was beautiful, because in the end money dictate that it be so.
But, yes, New England. I feel a certain draw to it because of the rich history there. One need not be a crazed, frothing patriot to appreciate the history of such a place. It is said to be the most beautiful in the fall. Perhaps someday I will get a chance to see that firsthand.
And here I am once again, talking about the past. I am fixated on it. Whether it be my own past or the past of a country or of the planet itself. I long for the past. For a different life during simpler times. Laughably an existence I have not really known outside of the "simple life" of my suburban upbringing.
Does the world become so dark and cruel as we get older that a person's natural inclination is to long for the elusive idea of "the past"? Perhaps it is the sensation that there is not much time left. As a child, days are long and time is endless. As an adult it seems the days rocket by faster and faster. Consumed by work and responsibilities. Suddenly a person can find themselves old having never even tried to do all the things they dreamed of.
In some random way, I can attempt to tie this all back into a topic that has come up the past couple weeks. Which is the annual Pride parade at the end of the month. For a myriad of reasons, I feel little desire to attend it while facing the usual grumbling opposition of people around me.
But the parade that will occur at the end of this month is not the parade I once attended ten years ago. Or 15 years ago. It is some parody of other past events I remember with great fondness. The history has been stripped away and some kind of new impostor has taken its place.
As stupid as it sounds, even an event like this has a history to it I remember feeling (though I'm not sure I want to say it has a smell). I remember the first pride parade I attended in the mid-90s. The street even at the main intersection of Roscoe and Halsted was practically empty. It wasn't the big affair like these days. There was a sense of something more important to it and equally a slightly dangerous air in being there. It was a different time.
When I lived in Lakeview, it was more about me having a party than the parade. It was just convenient that I was right there and participated on some level. I barely spent any time there during those years. Now, the neighborhood is different, the times are different and I am different. I attended last year simply because it was what I always did. And it was just another day of sunburn and drunkenness. There's certainly no meaning to it for me. Perhaps there would be if I didn't attend one year.
The present just seems to be uncomfortable, unwelcoming and painful. The future seems glum. The past is the only place that seems pleasant. This is not a healthy way to live I know. Does it speak to something about me and my character, or does it really say something about the world around me.