Gone With the Wind is introduced now by a okay but just in case you missed this and you wonder again at how young this country, how near its history. How it is still being built, and inadequately. You speak with other immigrants and try to make sense of the dreams that brought us, and if they are the same that keep us.
Because something still keeps us.
An old white man continues to ramble, but sometimes even they get it right. Fuck off if you can't hack it in this city when the going gets tough. The comment section is full of derision. Florida can have you. I contemplate bringing a car, bringing more of my things, etching my jagged edges into every square inch of this concrete and smoothly weaving my sweat and skin into its fabric. The truth is we've fallen for stories of dreams rather than the dreams themselves, the truth is what it is to be human is to live in stories, the truth is we have nothing if we do not have the belief in the tales we've been told. This city is a sermon, told again and again by preachers of every kind on every street corner, regaled to the new and bright eyed, rehashed to the jaded, edited, shortened, fleshed out, revised, but always told. Leaving the city now is putting the book down before you've read the ending. Leaving the city now means you do not pick it back up, and then what'll you have. This city is scripture, I believe in it like god and just like god are we the faithful not the ones who created it? Who recreate with every breath, with every turn of its merry-go-round?
I keep paying the fare.
Wink at the operator to let me go another round. Tell the story again like I got away with it.
No comments:
Post a Comment