i love how fighting your way to the back of a rush hour streetcar can feel like victory. like reaching the end of a strenuous, deeply important pilgrimage.
you know, when everyone jams themselves into the first half of the streetcar, completely ignoring the back where they're serving margaritas and telling dirty jokes.
of course, i know why they do it.
they do it because they're so sensually neglected. too untouched. and now that they've outgrown discos and hot tubs, it's the only chance they get to press up against strange flesh, to commune with unknown auras...
.
4 comments:
LOL
Ya know... sometimes I too miss the dirty jokes in the hot tub at the back of the car... but we Vancouverites do have the RAV line making its cinematic/catastophic (take your pick) debut, just in time for the 2010 Olympics, so maybe... just maybe... there's hope for us lurid hinterlanders yet!
Love,
Woxo
RAV? man, i'm so out of the loop...
soon. soon i'll be back home on the left coast (though not until after the fiasco of the fucking olympics, that much i can garantee) and i'll know it ALL! mwa ha ha.
lurid?
..moi?
(grin)
well cowboy, i hear what you're saying. but if i allow myself to judge so harshly and sink into such cynicism, i'd be miserable. and dead. not even exagerating. i have to look for the best in people (unavoidably with a wry eye), or at the very least mix a bit of humour in with the perception, lest i should lose hope in humanity, and life.
but if it works for you, go forth man. : )
hey cowboy - or whoever may be reading this comment years later!?
the term my friends and i often use to describe that of which you spoke: sheeple.
i'm now able to be a little jaded, without it totally destroying me, cuz it's all enveloped in the knowledge that "we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively."
love the sheeple. the sweet silly sad sheeple. they are you and you are they and we are they and they are all together. (or something like that. coo coo ka choo.)
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