Nonphenomenal Lineage

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Boston, Again

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A little art house theater joint in the South End on Tremont Street. It is a cold and rainy night. The light bulbs glow out of the mist.

I’m walking down a dark-and-deliriously windy Boston street, all by myself. I don’t mind being alone, and sometimes these days I even prefer it. It allows me to reflect. It’s wet outside as I pass the Back Bay Train Station, and I turn the corner toward the South End. It’s just finished raining and the smell of wet concrete floats sickly in the air. It is an unnatural smell, but old and familiar too.

Cigarette butts wedged in the cracks between the sidewalk panels. Carnations in cellophane and colored tissue paper. 25 cent copies of the day’s old Herald. Haggard old man in rotting jeans and a college boy in Red Sox cap. People never walk slow in this city, unless they’re lame.

I have loved this city; I left it once and returned to it because I couldn’t feel right being outside of it. But this city can only love me on its own terms. And, these days, those terms are getting long and complicated, like a ransom note and a high price to pay.

I’ll leave soon, and someday I’ll look back and wonder what happened to me here. I’ll ask myself what it was that I learned here. Was it loss or gain? Was it happy or sad? I’m too thick in it now to tell.

I know that I found a certain bit of enlightenment, knowledge which never promised to make me happy. In this city, love, soul and god walk down a dark alley into the eager arms of disenchantment, cynicism and fear.


currently listening to grandaddy grandaddy grandaddy


Written by pocheco

April 5, 2006 at 5:41 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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