something about this just makes me feel old.



sideshow by the seashore

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the temperature dropped rapidly in the evening hours of that fine yesterday, creating a billowing, rolling fog off the water. i brought laura down to the park on the cove for the air and the view-- the power plant was so obscured it was as though nothing was there. the park akin to being inside a low-level cloud, and in the distance on the water the sound of either a lost boat or traffic across the cove. we could only imagine what it must have been like at the willows, or forest river. here be pictures:
















the fog rolling. over the seawall in white puffs, through the chain-link fences like the breath of meteorology.

later, as the capstone to movie night, down to the water to investigate the fireworks we seem to hear almost nightly, regardless of season. we live here and get locked into the routine of hearing, of wondering, and of not bothering to look much into it. visitors change that. thence to the sand, where the fog had lifted and the tide gone out, leaving stagnant pools and the muddy, impassable expanse to beverly. it turns out, at least last night, the fireworks are the work of one man, a sketchy guy who sulked away sketchily upon our approach. he left a paper bag and a neat row of boxes. next time, rosie said, we should go down and catch him before he's fired off all of his ordinance. cheer him on. we could hear you from the street, we'll say. why do you do this?


daughter in the house of fools

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'the book was very right, of course, so long as everyone started living by it at the same time.'

-- aleksandr solzhenitsyn, cancer ward


*


when i was ten, i thought my brother was god
he'd lie in bed and turn out the light with a fishing rod
i learned the names of all his football team
and i still remembered them when i was nineteen

strange the things that i remember still
shouts from the playground when i was home and ill
my sister taught me all that she learned there
when we grew up, we said, we'd share a flat somewhere

when i was seventeen, london meant oxford street

where i grew up, there were no factories
there was a school and shops and some fields and trees
rows of houses one by one appeared
i was born in one and lived there for eighteen years

then when i was nineteen, i thought the humber would be
the gateway from my little world into the real world
but, there is no real world
we live side by side, and sometimes collide

when i was seventeen, london meant oxford street

it was a little world
i grew up in a little world

-- everything but the girl, 'oxford street'


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