from the air, the pacific northwest glows like a green mossy jewel. vibrating green vision of rain and emeralds. when i left minnesota, it was 5 degrees and grey. when i got off the max in downtown portland it was sunny and green, 60 degrees, and everyone was smiling and people were playing drums in the street. now i'm listening to built to spill and wondering how he can make such simple, almost inane lyrics, sound so powerful, pulling down the sky.
nothing particullarly eventful happened on my trip... i'm getting used to my parents' house and my old room being there whenever i go back, kind of like a time capsule of my past. my aunt's house in wheaton, illinois, is even more constant. it reminds me of christmas when i was little. it's a beautiful old 4 story house in a little prairie town, the same house where my dad grew up with his brothers and sisters. one of their cats, shadow, is older than i am.
the few days i was in minnesota i mostly spent with gabe, who tends to reoccur in my life... on wednesday night we had him, ben, and virginia over for dinner. my mom made soup and pie and my dad impressed my friends with some of his crazy ideas. before i left i stole some old photos and books to bring back to portland, photos of my italian relatives in the 40s.
when i got home, donna greeted me with tapioca pudding and a paradigm shift. we hung out with some old/new friends and talked about entropy and drank tea. after he left i felt kind of sick so i lay under the covers in donna's room and ate cereal. we are confused.
The crowd was the veil from behind which the the familiar city as phantasmagoria beckoned to the fl�neur. In it, the city was now landscape, now a room. The fl�neur is someone abandoned in the crowd. In this he shares the situation of the commodity...
walter benjamin, the arcades project