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The Glass Hidden in the Grass
Oct. 7th, 2008 08:58 pmBanks are collapsing left, right and centre and I don't know how this affects me; I have no money in them, after all. My rent went up because my landlady had to re-mortgage the apartment, but the apartment was a deal beforehand and now it's just its own real price. Whatever is more expensive now, I can live without it. I don't need gas or electricity; I can burn stuff on my balcony to keep me warm - it's not like the housing association that runs this derelict slab of concrete will give a toss.
The United Kingdom is facing an impending great recession, they say. If push came to shove, could I face a McDees counter, a garbage truck, a tower block reception desk? Yes I could, and the line ups for them too. I'd treat them like audition lines for Big Brother. But push won't come to shove for me because I leave my medieval tower under bleak weather these days and by the time I reach London Fields' soggy autumn leaves the sun is cloudbusting. And I have my mom's farm in Brasil, which I could easily turn into a commune if all hell broke loose. (Hopefully it won't be too hard catching an escape flight out of this country.) I'd help most of you travel across the oceans and seven seas to reach me; I'd teach you Portuguese; I'd tell you ghost stories in the Winter when the temperature drops so low in the mountains that we have to keep the fireplace going all night long. (Sausage dogs that nestle against your leg underneath the blanket come in handy on these frightening nights.)
There's a two-storey warehouse east of London Fields that houses a Christian organisation and a modest clothes manufacturer. A truck was parked outside it today, its back doors open. A wire ran from its interior to an open window on the top floor. A head popped out of the warehouse window and soon there was a plastic-wrapped blue dress wizzing down the wire, into the truck. Franz Schubert's "Octet D 803 F major Op. 166 for two Violins, Viola, Cello, Double-Bass, Clarinet, Horn and Bassoon: Andante con variazioni" was the perfect soundtrack to this tiny tableau. (Go see if you can download it from iTunes.) Another blue dress wizzed down; a man inside the truck, collecting the dresses and stacking them, gave me evils cause I stopped to watch the flying dresses. Someone will wear those garments one day and never know the journey they took to reach their body. They'll be too busy worrying about... stuff.
The United Kingdom is facing an impending great recession, they say. If push came to shove, could I face a McDees counter, a garbage truck, a tower block reception desk? Yes I could, and the line ups for them too. I'd treat them like audition lines for Big Brother. But push won't come to shove for me because I leave my medieval tower under bleak weather these days and by the time I reach London Fields' soggy autumn leaves the sun is cloudbusting. And I have my mom's farm in Brasil, which I could easily turn into a commune if all hell broke loose. (Hopefully it won't be too hard catching an escape flight out of this country.) I'd help most of you travel across the oceans and seven seas to reach me; I'd teach you Portuguese; I'd tell you ghost stories in the Winter when the temperature drops so low in the mountains that we have to keep the fireplace going all night long. (Sausage dogs that nestle against your leg underneath the blanket come in handy on these frightening nights.)
There's a two-storey warehouse east of London Fields that houses a Christian organisation and a modest clothes manufacturer. A truck was parked outside it today, its back doors open. A wire ran from its interior to an open window on the top floor. A head popped out of the warehouse window and soon there was a plastic-wrapped blue dress wizzing down the wire, into the truck. Franz Schubert's "Octet D 803 F major Op. 166 for two Violins, Viola, Cello, Double-Bass, Clarinet, Horn and Bassoon: Andante con variazioni" was the perfect soundtrack to this tiny tableau. (Go see if you can download it from iTunes.) Another blue dress wizzed down; a man inside the truck, collecting the dresses and stacking them, gave me evils cause I stopped to watch the flying dresses. Someone will wear those garments one day and never know the journey they took to reach their body. They'll be too busy worrying about... stuff.
