Control
Plans for a hike with J.R. were curtailed by the city's afternoon gridlock. Thankfully, living a block away from one of the largest urban parks in the country means there's ample miles of walking trails and greenspace.
I waited for J.R. outside my apartment at the underwater intersection. This part of the city is built over natural springs and former floodplains, but the waters still rise and gush through pipes that snake out from basements and lawns. The streets stretch above caverns hollowed by decades of underground water flow.*
This intersection is downhill from every direction, so the waters pool here year-round (or ice-over for three months), and erode the streets. Every time a city bus passes this intersection, my apartment building bounces as if it's on a trampoline. It's a nice reminder (every twenty minutes) that the only thing that keeps the cheery, beautiful, above-ground domestic urban scenery from suddenly toppling into a limestone canyon is the thin eggshell of pavement where my apartment currently stands.
The rent is really cheap.
Waiting at this intersection, I had to position myself just right to avoid being splashed by puddles gone airborne by passing cars. But it was awkward to find a place among the trees and parked cars visible to friends driving by who've never been here before. Thankfully, I found an empty parking spot, which gave enough visual clearance to reveal my lanky, goofy figure separate from the crepe myrtles and trashcans and dozens of pedestrian passersby.
One of those people didn't so much pass me by as they did slowly stand in my periphery.
"Hi, I live up the street," he said. He came closer. A younger guy, reddish beard and ragged shirt.
"Oh, great," I said. That was also the exact moment that a car slowed to a stop nearby to take the parking spot in front of us.
"I'm just walking around, up and down Monroe today..."
I sighed in defeat over losing the parking spot. "That's great," I repeated.
The guy continued, "I'm Fleming."
"Like Ian Fleming?"
Fleming looked confused.
"The author of James Bond."
His eyes glazed over. What I said had no bearing on the world around us.
I wondered if the people in the car, parking in front of us, regretted their decision since there were two strange men talking just outside their door.
"You doing anything today," Fleming asked. "You looking to have a good time?"
The car in front of us hummed to silence, the engine turned off.
Redbeard/Fleming continued. "I'm looking for people who like to have a good time."
I heard a splash and saw J.R.'s car slowing down in the underwater intersection. I waved to her car. J.R. saw me and waved back. She also saw the guy standing next to me. Her car slowed down.
That was also when the people in the car in front of us opened their doors and stood up to see redbeard and me. A young couple. They paused just a second, just long enough hear Fleming say:
"You want some weed?"
The young couple continued as if they hadn't heard anything, like we weren't there.
"No," I said, and stepped out to J.R.'s car. As if worried about being rude to the local drug dealer, I turned my head as I walked away and said, "No, thank you."
J.R. rolled down her car window. She gave a smile that was equal-parts lovely and confused. Who's this guy with you? I shrugged.
"Where should I park," she asked. "What's the plan?"
"I'll get in with you."
I must have looked like I was trying to beat a hasty retreat, getting into the car so quickly. Mostly, I just wanted to get out of traffic, but if I were trying to beat a hasty retreat, our escape route was short-lived to a parking spot across the street, only a few feet away.
When we got out, Fleming was still there, eyes glazed and staring at the crepe myrtles. He was, indeed, having a good time.
J.R. asked, "What's with all this water?"
*The same area of the city from years ago during an elongated lucid dream and became the physical embodiment of a metaphor, recently rediscovered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mannequin Pussy - Control
[Listen on bandcamp]
Mannequin Pussy - Control
I'm in control
That's what I tell myself
When all the walls around me
Close in
And you
You have this way
You repeat all of the words
That everyone else says
And I know no one's waiting for anyone
Yeah, I know no one's waiting for anyone
I've come undone
I sliced it how
I'd rather feel the hurt
Separated
Thanks for watching me
Pleading out and over all your sheets
For cleaning me
And what I, what I need
Is just one real bitch
To set me free
I know no one's waiting for anyone
I know I'm not waiting
Something's in your eyes
I know I'm not waiting
I'm in control
I know I'm not waiting
That's what I tell myself
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I waited for J.R. outside my apartment at the underwater intersection. This part of the city is built over natural springs and former floodplains, but the waters still rise and gush through pipes that snake out from basements and lawns. The streets stretch above caverns hollowed by decades of underground water flow.*
This intersection is downhill from every direction, so the waters pool here year-round (or ice-over for three months), and erode the streets. Every time a city bus passes this intersection, my apartment building bounces as if it's on a trampoline. It's a nice reminder (every twenty minutes) that the only thing that keeps the cheery, beautiful, above-ground domestic urban scenery from suddenly toppling into a limestone canyon is the thin eggshell of pavement where my apartment currently stands.
The rent is really cheap.
Waiting at this intersection, I had to position myself just right to avoid being splashed by puddles gone airborne by passing cars. But it was awkward to find a place among the trees and parked cars visible to friends driving by who've never been here before. Thankfully, I found an empty parking spot, which gave enough visual clearance to reveal my lanky, goofy figure separate from the crepe myrtles and trashcans and dozens of pedestrian passersby.
One of those people didn't so much pass me by as they did slowly stand in my periphery.
"Hi, I live up the street," he said. He came closer. A younger guy, reddish beard and ragged shirt.
"Oh, great," I said. That was also the exact moment that a car slowed to a stop nearby to take the parking spot in front of us.
"I'm just walking around, up and down Monroe today..."
I sighed in defeat over losing the parking spot. "That's great," I repeated.
The guy continued, "I'm Fleming."
"Like Ian Fleming?"
Fleming looked confused.
"The author of James Bond."
His eyes glazed over. What I said had no bearing on the world around us.
I wondered if the people in the car, parking in front of us, regretted their decision since there were two strange men talking just outside their door.
"You doing anything today," Fleming asked. "You looking to have a good time?"
The car in front of us hummed to silence, the engine turned off.
Redbeard/Fleming continued. "I'm looking for people who like to have a good time."
I heard a splash and saw J.R.'s car slowing down in the underwater intersection. I waved to her car. J.R. saw me and waved back. She also saw the guy standing next to me. Her car slowed down.
That was also when the people in the car in front of us opened their doors and stood up to see redbeard and me. A young couple. They paused just a second, just long enough hear Fleming say:
"You want some weed?"
The young couple continued as if they hadn't heard anything, like we weren't there.
"No," I said, and stepped out to J.R.'s car. As if worried about being rude to the local drug dealer, I turned my head as I walked away and said, "No, thank you."
J.R. rolled down her car window. She gave a smile that was equal-parts lovely and confused. Who's this guy with you? I shrugged.
"Where should I park," she asked. "What's the plan?"
"I'll get in with you."
I must have looked like I was trying to beat a hasty retreat, getting into the car so quickly. Mostly, I just wanted to get out of traffic, but if I were trying to beat a hasty retreat, our escape route was short-lived to a parking spot across the street, only a few feet away.
When we got out, Fleming was still there, eyes glazed and staring at the crepe myrtles. He was, indeed, having a good time.
J.R. asked, "What's with all this water?"
*The same area of the city from years ago during an elongated lucid dream and became the physical embodiment of a metaphor, recently rediscovered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mannequin Pussy - Control
[Listen on bandcamp]
Mannequin Pussy - Control
I'm in control
That's what I tell myself
When all the walls around me
Close in
And you
You have this way
You repeat all of the words
That everyone else says
And I know no one's waiting for anyone
Yeah, I know no one's waiting for anyone
I've come undone
I sliced it how
I'd rather feel the hurt
Separated
Thanks for watching me
Pleading out and over all your sheets
For cleaning me
And what I, what I need
Is just one real bitch
To set me free
I know no one's waiting for anyone
I know I'm not waiting
Something's in your eyes
I know I'm not waiting
I'm in control
I know I'm not waiting
That's what I tell myself
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~