|
2000 Monkeys probably wrote this |
the cult of portland |
poetry:
music:
prose:
letters:
nonsense:
misc:
copyright xeniot (monkey #101) 1998 - 2001 |
There is a fine, wet feel to this place. In the autumn, particularly, before the ground is waterlogged and the skies are completely impenetrable. The trees lining the streets quietly drop their leaves, not like the aggressive maples of the Northeast or the laconic, uncertain oaks in California, but in a sort of yellow resignation. When the sun does appear, briefly, it fills the air, drawing buildings out of the merely visual aspects of existence and into a sort of metaphysical assertion, the unpretentious solidity of Walt Whitman. And when you walk down the street in that sort of weather you are being isolated and romanced by the world. The rain, which is strangely dry, is its fingers, slowly and gently exploring. Inside, perhaps behind a book, you hear it falling, and the hiss of cars rushing over the pavement, and the summer, with all its nonsense about growth and progress and activity, seems a little dim. You do not belong to this cult unless you actually like the tranquilitis (as Ken Kesey has it) of the wet seasons. It's not the cabin fever of the cold climates, which pulls people into coffeehouses and pubs in search of companionship, not the assault of Mother Nature, and it is certainly not the eternal summer of Southern California, which is the worst sort of loneliness. It engenders intense friendships, contemplative sex, and whatever you associate with the blue smoke of cigarettes rising in the wet air. We are proud of not being busy. The ports and trainyards seem more like sculpture than industry to us. We take a secret stake in the innate resistance and competance of Powell's City of Books, Chuck Palahniak, Ken Kesey, Reed College, and Ursula K. LeGuin. The sun, to be honest, hurts our eyes. But the summers are fantastically green, and there are certain hillsides where the grass is thick, the trees unbroken, and the sky a cornflower blue. In general we ignore Seattle and San Francisco. We wish it would rain more in San Francisco, and we wish it would rain less in Seattle, so more people would go there instead. There's more, but not much point in telling it. |