Bare walls and cardboard boxes
It has come time to move on, or more directly, move out of the Co-op. In addition to the fact that I feel to some extent like a black sheep, I'm just not feelin' the connection here anymore. Sean and I are getting a place on Broadway and Lincoln in an old brick building with wood floors, high ceilings and the biggest windows I've ever seen. I'll still have the same phone number for anyone who want's to get a hold of me.
We were moving some boxes today and it made me remember the day I moved into the campbell club. I had all my stuff piled in a pickup and littered in the alley. Kit and I made our way up the wooden stairs to the kitchen and up to the second floor with more stuff than I ever needed. I came to the co-op wide eyed and expecting the best. I leave a little deflated and thankful that I won't be smelling the compost anymore.
I've been on a poetry kick lately so I'll relay one of my newly found favorites...
"Geneva Cottrell, Waiting For The Dog To Die"
By: Carl Hancock Rux
Some haunting blues/and violets weep/from corner to corner/wall to window/call for soul simplicity/before/we cut our flesh/and bleed on life/some haunting sound/round the mid of day/vapor midst/and first kiss/ago/where we lived/without our nipples sucked/or daughters split in secret/a mother looked into /the cristal of her ball belly/and fathers reach deep inside to catch hold...then let go/what gulf or ditch or narrow way/stands between soul simplicity?/what holler? /hurt /or stingy love/transcends/or sends us there/in border line/manic thought and tragic art/come from our swollen eyes/the crowds applaud/some haunting blues/critics rave/while violets weep/people run from corner to corner/wall to window/to see the sick and dying mind/the rats maze and poets frenzy run/some rock and smoke/or hate themselves/some write or joke/or bait themselves/one comes and goes/with pain and woe/and stands on stage alone/whispering for soul simplicity...before we cut our flesh and bleed on life/without disguise or careful talk/we walked across the line/as our mind saw a vapor midst...first kiss ago/nipples sucked and daughters split in secret/a life of art and tragedy/nihilistic haze and and yester-ways soul simplicity
We were moving some boxes today and it made me remember the day I moved into the campbell club. I had all my stuff piled in a pickup and littered in the alley. Kit and I made our way up the wooden stairs to the kitchen and up to the second floor with more stuff than I ever needed. I came to the co-op wide eyed and expecting the best. I leave a little deflated and thankful that I won't be smelling the compost anymore.
I've been on a poetry kick lately so I'll relay one of my newly found favorites...
"Geneva Cottrell, Waiting For The Dog To Die"
By: Carl Hancock Rux
Some haunting blues/and violets weep/from corner to corner/wall to window/call for soul simplicity/before/we cut our flesh/and bleed on life/some haunting sound/round the mid of day/vapor midst/and first kiss/ago/where we lived/without our nipples sucked/or daughters split in secret/a mother looked into /the cristal of her ball belly/and fathers reach deep inside to catch hold...then let go/what gulf or ditch or narrow way/stands between soul simplicity?/what holler? /hurt /or stingy love/transcends/or sends us there/in border line/manic thought and tragic art/come from our swollen eyes/the crowds applaud/some haunting blues/critics rave/while violets weep/people run from corner to corner/wall to window/to see the sick and dying mind/the rats maze and poets frenzy run/some rock and smoke/or hate themselves/some write or joke/or bait themselves/one comes and goes/with pain and woe/and stands on stage alone/whispering for soul simplicity...before we cut our flesh and bleed on life/without disguise or careful talk/we walked across the line/as our mind saw a vapor midst...first kiss ago/nipples sucked and daughters split in secret/a life of art and tragedy/nihilistic haze and and yester-ways soul simplicity