Amazingly Seattle, beautiful dreamless sleep Seattle, awakenings in the crisp cold Seattle, ethereal city of emerald night and evergreen color schemes… is a fast approaching destination on my immediate horizon. I have driven for metaphorical miles through space and time, through tire explosions and boxes of wine in shabby motels with decent views of gathering dust storms and the paint stripped right off of my car like young drunk girls and their clothes. Only the sexual and manipulative or only the libertarian and daring.
Somehow, you Fremont nudists, I will soon take a step toward a life of my own amidst your bare backed ranks. I will longboard on dry days and wave at my new neighbors living in their little house boat neighborhoods. Snow will fall and I will create angels. Books will be shelved and picked up, browsed, shelved, snatched, skimmed, returned, until some phrase sticks…. how about, ‘When she tried to speak, her voice was drowned in the dim stillness, and she had to try again to make a sound. “Can you take me to my room?”‘ – from The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.
Must allow these random tangents to soak through my clothes and emanate and spirited aura like children at the fair who are not terrified by the amount of horrifying stimulation.
Seattle, I will become a part of you soon. I will move slowly toward you with greater excitement and precedence until my settlement is one of great mirth and merriment. One of calm repose and joyous revelry, interspersed by healthy self-cooked meals and long exploratory walks while others wallow in the cold darkness of winter. Here is time for me to live a life of my own entirely; the life that became impossible for me in other scenarios. I will lean on those who beg me to lean on them, but only with graciousness and a genuine necessity, they (my family) will help me carry my silly anchor-weights up the mountainside of my truest personality. Some burgeoning expanse of grandeur and mystery. Shrouded, I should say, in the belief that I haven’t yet fallen into my SELF.
Seattle, I do not pity myself for my confusion. I always wish minor confusion in my being. Why is life? for instance. Healthy, reverent philosophy to carry me through the constant atrocities and kindnesses of the world in which I have been thrown into, without consent.
Mother, I did not consent to this but I am trying my best.
Back to you, though, you city of burning embers and lost light. With your underground world of music and art and proto-cultural events in basements of rec centers all over town. You must meet me in the middle of it all. I have held you as an ideal to help me past horrific past settlements and anxious devastation. I have help your picture so far back as if it where inside the constellations… a constant reminder like a setting moon.
Now that you are heading at me like a beam of light, I falter slightly. I feel gently askew. Something is off. Maybe my hair is not the right length for you. Maybe my tattoos are too invisible. Do I work out like you do? Am I a 12th man? Or just 1, 1, 1, 1, one??
I will conquer you with joyous frost bitten hands and slanted walls. Decorations to make me feel at home. Perhaps a cat, Seattle. Just a damn cat to persuade loneliness to leave me be and to keep me regular. But why not lonely and irregular? There are jazz clubs and holes in the walls of you and I will explore and puncture until nothing is left but gracious sleep and the study of burbling creeks north of you.
I’m so excited that you are making me nervous. When you enter my life as a reality, I will know just then how to feel about you. Now I can only assume what will become of me in you.