I set out today in a deep and muggy swelter, my mind well apart from its earthly locus. From where I stand the sky is a sheet, bluish-grey and oppressively blank, and cicadas drone and birds creech horribly. Dusk is gasping at my back. I meet no one, no one, and make damn sure of it too, turning into an alley I don't recognize; no one but birds and faceless drivers. I'm not here to clear my head. It is already empty, thoroughly, a void that upwells to my eyes. “Windows to the soul,” aren't they. To my either side now is a jungle of vacant dirt and unfinished construction and awkward raised concrete beds. Weeds choke a driveway through a thick web of cracks. Maybe from this high resistance looks like revolt.
June 25, 2023