In the half light at

May 04, 2003

In the half light at the beginning of a day. I can see the shapes that sound makes when I’m halfway to sleep. I am sensitive to temperature because the skin is fresh from the cocoon. Out the rose tinted window plastic cups and bags and wrappers roll around in the remnants of last week’s snowfall. Road grime fringes the brown grass that fans up the walls of the highway. Utility buildings run off for miles. Built to become something else just in case today's new venture doesn’t work out. Nightclub is warehouse. Warehouse is grocery store. Identically painted trucks all need a paint job. Some have mixed pink into the umbers and beiges to almost make a statement with the massive expanses of stucco on the strip mall. The anesthetic of repetition. Peaks and gables of stamped out teal metal pocked with the shit of seagulls way too far from the sea. Scavengers have made their way into all things. Intended uses are never enough. What will we do with the giant inflatable cell phone on the roof of the store when it looks too low tech? Now the sound barrier wall rises up on either side of the bus to force me back to what is going on in here. Keep your thoughts out of our bedroom communities. Soon I will find the hidden bathroom in the largest mall in the world. Dolphins backs will break the surface near the Radio Shack. Fluorescent light will flood the families in bathing suits at the rubber beached wave pool. Take it all inside. Take it all inside. The sea of humanity is the best distraction from the idea of the mall.