This morning is all rain. Grey skies and all rain. Gas powered weed wackers and leaf blowers creating and moving bits of greenery around the streets. Somewhere over there a lawn is manicured, somewhere over there a hedge of juniper is shaped. Is it wrong to value entropy instead. Unshaven beards dipping into soup bowls. Chin Noodle clouds and pesto mustaches. Overgrown doorsteps, weeds everywhere.
And that’s when all the drones settle in, reserving couch spots in front of football games with freckled eyeliner and eager postures. Little rectangles of comfort dropped in perfectly built squares. Who did we inhabit this from. This is a creation. This was a creativity. Who’s vision left me with expensive boxes? Stop teaching me how to navigate these realities as if they are stable/sane/logical. How do I start over? How do I feel solace in rejection? How do I feel comfort in loneliness? Who could have prepared me for how the world would make me feel alone. Walking through piles of concrete, neon signs, bent trees, watching new buildings built with the speed of the gods. What can I celebrate in a liquor store? The variety? The machine hours of glass shaping and coloring, textured prints for measurments. The credit card machines direct connection with my bank. The refrigeration systems cooling efficiency. The calories – packaged in stained cardboard and internationally sourced aluminum foil. What generation can I blame this on? What man? What a waste of time and energy. Family sized boxes of cancerous chemicals flavored for addictive consumptive patterns. I never want anything inside of any box? I find my food on the ground from a tree. I find my objects in the street. I’ll eat a whole tree. I’ll sleep inside a dog. I’ll eat your whole car. I’ll shit on your lawn. I’ll tear down your box. I live in a rectangle with a round top next to a triangle dog park. Who put us in boxes? Teach your children how to be lonely. Its lonely as fuck here.