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what i will read at old glory some time in the future:
SEQUENCE DISRUPTOR 8
dear s{e}an?,
when we are old we must save play for the young. surrender it in shame and in shame accept their ridicule. we must walk the garden of serpents and feel their animal blood in our spine. we must go blind and die before we reach the end. that is our end. who would be reproached for thinking that such a creature could ever inspire awe? and yet we are awed. here in our face, tall ships cross the sea and descend into the vitreous.
(love always (love always (love always,
e{m}ma+
Old Glory is located on the unofficial border that separates ‘downtown’ from ‘uptown’. Uptown is where the wealthier people are supposed to live. People who may have once lived downtown or were once interested in what was happening downtown but who, after having moved uptown, became further enamored or engaged with uptown things (summer homes, horses, boats, trips to the moon, marble). But I don't see people anymore. I only see outlines. Words that color the air. The miscellanies of human speed. I see summer homes made of birch twigs, horses formed of hard plastic. I see boats of stripped bark drifting downstream and through the curls of your hair, a corridor to the moon. I see marble, soft as a down pillow and cold as the first night of autumn.
