one of those nights where i'm overwhelmed by the alienation and hatred of place that's built into everything these days. nowhere on earth left untouched by the sound of aircraft. lights are on 24/7 and i can read a book on the sidewalk at any hour - night, which is almost half the world, is functionally abolished in many places, including in a checkerboard pattern around most of the places i live. the house across the street was torn down last year; what's getting built has less color, fewer facets, it can fit triple the renters; it was designed by and built by and owned by people who fear any connection, relation, opinion, desire.
coming home at 930pm and not wanting to cook in an empty house; almost every restaurant is closed and the streets are empty. (not quiet - in addition to the general hum or whine of lights, there's mosquito sound generators tucked into a couple spots. they're not on during the day because this is sandwiched between multiple school zones.) the restaurants that are still open charge $18 for the cheapest things on the menu, and the actual meals easily run to $40. lately i've been so busy and so poor that at least one meal a day has been a replacement shake pilfered from my job. neither the restaurant customers, nor i, are eating anything that has been in this area for more than the last few centuries, at best. the dumpsters in this neighborhood are locked inside the garages of the adjoining apartment complexes at night; forget stealing, i can't even rummage through the trash. i go home and make a salad; i am eating baby spinach in november, i am eating arugula in the pacific northwest.
thinking about the storefronts that are lit all night and the planes passing overhead. what it would take to allow quiet, dark, peace, back into the world. arguments i have in my head with neighbors, strangers. what would happen if all the planes are grounded - my job, which i do think is good, collapsing almost overnight. arguing with my boss in my head, with the department of health, to allow me to do slower work, work that brings people into the place where they are living, work that isn't flowing from transport chains and sterile disposables and the cheapest option for the most participants. imagining this work is alien even to myself, despite this being the focal point of my attention most of the day. considering the values that i hold, and what i think would need to be held to be able to live with respect to the world around you, and how far away it is from everything discussed in my line of work. the disposability of poverty; who is even afforded the dignity of discussing "sustainability" - locality - relation - attention.
my self, my life, the politics that i already live in - attention that i am giving to the smallest life i can see around me, most of them overwintering now. I cannot pass an outdoor speaker without fantasizing about its destruction; regularly i am thinking of bolos, slings, improvised spears, anything that could reach high enough to smash them, to make things a bit quieter. I drove 31 miles today and that was on the low side. remembering ten-lined june beetles in summer - they often get trapped under artificial lights, waiting for the sun to go down before they move. the sun never goes down. friends who know me send me photos asking about them, wondering who they are and why they're still on the porch in the morning. wondering if my explanations reach them - if they feel sympathy - we are all stuck under the artificial lights, waiting for the sun to go down.
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