krysg's blog

Footing. One two three four cacophanous stepping + sideways glancing. Breezes brushing momentums hurricaning whirling bumping off shoulders crossing paths. "I'm sorry." looking streetward. House on the corner is watering. Sky is watering. The house is leaving. turreted walls leaking green living, dripping growing flowering consuming. Sky greying and clearing. footsteps echoing. smell of gasolene music bumping. screeching. loudening breaking thumping. ground shaking. bass tone voices blaring. returning home -- quieting centering

tree sitting in Taft. bee crawling. black and yellow refracting -- gossamer winging. sky darkening cold invading. pen failing raindrops washing blurring dissolving paper. Sounding off leaves. Smelling of fountaining Taft. engrossing. fluffy squirrel foraging ignoring. chipmunk creeping a foot away clawing scaling the tree scurrying changing directionals startling startled dissappearing. scurrying along decaying grounding -- deadening?

"i can't trust him anymore" she takes a step to the side, three-fourths angle, quarter turn,
"if you say you're going" another three-fourths angled stepping, quarter-turned,
"you have to carry through," pots and pans ring over and through her speech she turns on the one she speaks

she is speaking but in her speech is her dance; and her movement is dance is speech, i can't focus on exact words or subject but can only watch her sway hin-und-hinter, arms swiging emotion outward, each turn punctuating point, a symbolic universe of referential comings-and-goings, at once meant as performance of self, for no-one's eyes, yet a performance for the speaker on the other end of the line; her feet shuffle, wandering yet placed

i feel overwhelming voyerism and turn away in shame, a watcher knowing one is being watched in turn: i turn my eyes to the sky as the hair pricks on the back of my neck-- gaze or cool breeze? no creatures are winging, or watching. it seems as though i am the only one looking from this level.

cold gusts behind me, rushing from the west. i look east, toward the new upcroppings of Hilton Suites. i wonder, if such status and priveledge is afforded to those who have a view,

why do we not place greater importance on the bird's eye-view
as it moves from cold northern mountains to southern oceanside
(not the warm plateau)

Screeching along its tracks, the R100 is visible looking from the rooftop, chugging along as it carries passengers, burdened by their weight. The clouds are whispy and the air is cool. Air, moving along underneath them, carries the condensing dust and water particles in the same direction that the train races. Tops of smoke towers, peaking out above trees along the horizon, hinting at the factories to which they connect, foreground the sun as it sets to the west and begins to bleed the sky. Philadelphia sunsets are beautiful. Before coming to the city, there had never been another sunset on par with those particular to the Philadelphia area. Maybe LA is just too smoggy. The smoke is constantly clogging the sky, invading and changing the chemical composition of the clouds, turning sunsets bleak black-grey. The temperature grows colder. Galloping starts, it's the cat racing across the roof --THUD-- pouncing on a flittering bug. Is it a stick bug? A praying mantis? Should it be saved? Are they not endangered? Off pops its wings. Chewing disappears its thorax. Swallowing. It's done. Ethical crisis averted.

Charles P. Varle's "Idealized Plan for West Philadelphia"

Nathan Suplee's "Survey Map of West Philadelphia"

It does not seem like there is a point in my day in which I go on a “proper” Thoreauvian walk; in fact, it does not seem that many places around me offer the possibility of walking without guided action.  It was thus hard to imagine a free-roaming meander, a saunter, a true meditative exploration on the outskirts of University City. After all, every step you took has you along another path that someone has created specifically to lead you to McDondalds or Chipotle or the UPenn Library; down Locust Walk, where it is almost permissible to saunter, bikes zoom past you while sorority girls and frat boys drunkenly bop shoulders and shrill like windchimes. Between destinations your head needs to be up and perceptive; they key in this sentence is the assurance that one must always have a destination while walking; an aimless amble could put you in danger and lead you into the wrong type of situation.    

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