blue header

this photograph pleases me to no end
crossed up visions

The sight lines are sinewy as elbows on old men. The women are tough and smart and beautiful. The streets are smelly and obstreperous. The nights do not end, but stretch out over time like oceans of chaotic promise. The day heaves its breathless asthmatic breath.

The city offers few intelligible utterances, opting instead to let the guttural hum of its machines issue forth at will. Then, suddenly, a warning flies past the throng, unexpected.

“Boy, you better know what you’re doing.”

“I do not,” — the chorus, headstrong.

“Then leave.”

Brusqueness is the language of metropolis the same way that romance is the language of the tropics.

Who has been warned more times than an artist? A criminal. Who has been wrong more times than a criminal? A priest. Who has been summoned more times than a holy man? A prostitute. Who has been distrusted more times than a working girl? A lawyer.

Here, so many have landed to seek communion with time and fate. Here, in the petri dish of a modern America, in Gotham, voices and bodies pull the delicate strings of the puppet show that the same eyes and ears bear witness.


    The images are powerful and bitter. The description of the women is simple and honest. I know those women. Your choice of words seems to not be what we tend to think of beautiful women as… tough or smart. Sad but true. I think that sets the stage for a type of description that I try to write and love to read. The one where words we dont tend to associate appear in context with concepts we perhaps wrongly, tend to see in a certain way. For instance… \”oceans of chaotic promise\” gives me the vastness of the promise but I wouldnt have expected the word \”chaotic\”. It is the exact word that makes the sentiment strong but a weaker writer would have left the word out.

    You painted a picture that made me remember being in an open air market just past the last ethiopian resturaunt like 2 or 3 blocks off U street watching some thick ass sexy carribean goddess tell her child what to do. Her sweet accent licked my ears and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Watching her switch as she shuffled her feet around her table gave me chills of excitement and scared me all at the same time. Regardless of how or what I do or am I can be reduced to being an awe struck teenager when a determined, beautiful chocolate hustling women is near.

    I bought one of her overpriced \”african\” wood carvings. Like a puppet I pretended to be interested in what part of africa they came from and how long it took to make them. I dont know if she was pulling the strings or if I was pulling them myself.

    Anyway. I may have missed the entire point of the piece but it made me think and I like that. Plus it shows off your skills a bit, which I like as well. Outstanding post. Thank you for sharing.


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