(no subject)
evening falls over a beautiful old shotgun house right off esplanade. it's a porch-sitting kinda night. i'm with hope and craig, my housemates danny and matt, matt's visiting father. all of us shiny from the humidity of the new orleans air. there are two working burners in our kitchen, five of us trying to cook dinner at once under the enormous hole in the cieling. i don't know how that hole got there.
i cut matt's hair, it's on the floor
wine is spilled on my bedroom floor
beer is spilled on the stoop
bike tubes and patch kits on the bathroom floor
danny comes in and out. dropping off a six-pack, this fantastic series of statements comes out of his mouth, one straight after the other: "so, i just almost got arrested, and i have to go back there, and i'm trying to steal something." some scaffolding, i believe. every time he comes back we're on the porch, though we've been moving too. as the mad dog kicks in (yes back to the hobo wine for us) we quit smoking and then quit smoking again minutes later. for real this time. the conversation turns to volunteer groups. to community. to being outsiders and the possibility of changing the culture here just by the way it is rebuilt.
isn't that incredible? every house on every street here is so unique. shotguns are traditional, they're called shotguns because you can open the front door and shoot a bullet clear through the back door without hitting anything. it means no privacy. i live in the middle room. when extended families live in these structures, there's such a tight bond and a certain openness. what happens when you bring in these modular homes with private rooms? it changes the way a family interacts and how they spend their time.
meeting amongst volunteer groups and community members last week.
momma d:
"i don't want to be a part of your experience"
"i saw people floatin in my city"
"if we don't have one love, it's not goin to work, baby"
"there must be interaction. we must leave people with their dignity. i'm from new orleans and i didn't want no help. help people as you would want to be helped. forget what you heard, get out and walk in the street, sit on a porch and chat. that's how sociology used to be."
there must be porch-sitting.
i have no job and limited money.
i have no obligations aside from the ones i give myself.
i'm trying to strip away the surreal and dishonest parts of my life.
i have relevant conversations.
i think a lot, especially about art.
i never again want to institutionalize my drive to create.
i'm temporarily working with a small nonprofit on a green building showcase for this huge home & garden show at the superdome next week.
my sister came into town last week and i joined her group in some relief work.
i am looking for an organization to sync up with longer-term.
i indulge in community bike-rides down frenchman at night.
i feel stress slowly leaving my body.
i'm really, really enjoying life right now.
i cut matt's hair, it's on the floor
wine is spilled on my bedroom floor
beer is spilled on the stoop
bike tubes and patch kits on the bathroom floor
danny comes in and out. dropping off a six-pack, this fantastic series of statements comes out of his mouth, one straight after the other: "so, i just almost got arrested, and i have to go back there, and i'm trying to steal something." some scaffolding, i believe. every time he comes back we're on the porch, though we've been moving too. as the mad dog kicks in (yes back to the hobo wine for us) we quit smoking and then quit smoking again minutes later. for real this time. the conversation turns to volunteer groups. to community. to being outsiders and the possibility of changing the culture here just by the way it is rebuilt.
isn't that incredible? every house on every street here is so unique. shotguns are traditional, they're called shotguns because you can open the front door and shoot a bullet clear through the back door without hitting anything. it means no privacy. i live in the middle room. when extended families live in these structures, there's such a tight bond and a certain openness. what happens when you bring in these modular homes with private rooms? it changes the way a family interacts and how they spend their time.
meeting amongst volunteer groups and community members last week.
momma d:
"i don't want to be a part of your experience"
"i saw people floatin in my city"
"if we don't have one love, it's not goin to work, baby"
"there must be interaction. we must leave people with their dignity. i'm from new orleans and i didn't want no help. help people as you would want to be helped. forget what you heard, get out and walk in the street, sit on a porch and chat. that's how sociology used to be."
there must be porch-sitting.
i have no job and limited money.
i have no obligations aside from the ones i give myself.
i'm trying to strip away the surreal and dishonest parts of my life.
i have relevant conversations.
i think a lot, especially about art.
i never again want to institutionalize my drive to create.
i'm temporarily working with a small nonprofit on a green building showcase for this huge home & garden show at the superdome next week.
my sister came into town last week and i joined her group in some relief work.
i am looking for an organization to sync up with longer-term.
i indulge in community bike-rides down frenchman at night.
i feel stress slowly leaving my body.
i'm really, really enjoying life right now.