The Propagation

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June 9, 2005

Rate of Approachability of a Streetwalker

—> Clocking and Block Rocking the Street Beat —>
+4

Bonus Stat!
from Point of Emotion on Street 1
{conduction of busi/yness, bumming of cigarettes, observations of not having seen in while, shouts & waves from across streets, asking if cool, following in and standing before and checking and exit, vouching to store owner of coolness (the owner concurring), brief touch/pat/rub of/n bull’s eye of chest from…}
*5 dealers in the space of 2.5 blocks*
That’s dense.
That’s 2 dealers deep per block (street not avenue).
And I remembered how hard it was in the beginning sometimes, felt the contrast betwen past and present.
They know me in the neighborhood even when I don’t know (remember, more likely) them.
Huh.

Point of Emotion on Street 2
Sometimes?you know it?the constituents (you will see that I hereby call on both major denotations: parts of (w)hole, and empowered electors and designators) of life snap-click to lockstep, in gay conspiracy. Every other second (represented by a dash) plumpens 40% slowing the whirling of the world by a composite of twenty per. This is when you are most fully and sensibly cinematic as an individual, playing as you do both star/subject and watcher/colorizer, opening channels for goo. And I got goo.

I got goo’ed between rising out of the train and earth, onto the hard path, paced-down and pointless—a value usable in dichotomy not placible here. And here’s what it was.[stet]

Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m On Fire” on the iPod. I love that song. And heard bits of my guts hurling its flume through. I saw the people. I felt the desperation of every motion, the casting about and resignation of every bite and breath. His inflect gave me a goose-bumpy tingle and chill. The world and me had a soundtrack on us. My eyeballs raised a mili in the float. And then that girly whooping it up part came and I chucked-up a grim grin. What cheese. I lost to rubble everyatmosfearicthing I just gained. Uh, Bruce, I like you better as Boss than no hollabackgirl. But I thought I might regain the string. And I did. I felt it up another time. And distracted on to other things. Let yourself go, darlin.

Posted by peligrito at June 9, 2005 9:11 AM

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