Rain from a few nights ago woke me up frequently. It was a lonely, loud night of waking up to a sound I considered comforting. Beneath the growling, soothing ruptures of atmosphere ran thousands of gallons of water, flooding streets and basements and ruining peoples’ lives for the next 24 hours. Last night there was rain but I hear nothing, felt less. I slept, waking to evaporated dreams. I should change my sheets. It’s been too long. I sweat some nights now. That happens in the summer. Not buckets of sweat. Just enough to distract, to attract attention, to ask if that’s just sweat or is it a creature, a snake or a lizard, a frog or a lanternfly… Am I sleeping in a soup of insects and pests, or is it just a drop of sweat traveling down the back of my neck, destination unknown?
I am back to strawberries, for today at least. The store I frequent had none, or when they had stock the berries were bad or the containers were enormous to a point that I could not fit them in my bag. That’s a key convenience for this lazy American. The store clerk there is strange. Laughs like a hyena, remembers me for my strawberries. I also have taken a shine to seedless cucumbers for breakfast. When cut in half and unwrapped of their plastic they are the perfect dimension for a sex toy.
That jaunt through South Ozone Park was something I probably could have better planned. Crime on the path I took is pretty high, though probably not so much on Sunday mornings. I don’t know. I was nervous at times when silence and quiet would be taken over by small crowds of restless-seeming dudes sitting on milk crates. I remembered the time I got mugged, however many years ago. I had flashed my hot new Treo phone and some kids sitting outside a bodega saw it. They followed me and did their thing, stealing the phone and wallet. I flashed back to that moment on Sunday when I heard a voice behind me whisper, “Boy. Come here, boy. C’mon.” It sounded like the whisper of the muggers who got me with that Treo phone. They quietly said “Bro, yo, stop walking. Stop walking.” This person on SUnday sounded like he was trying to get my attention. A pill of panic sunk into my gut, quickly lifted when the person approaching from behind turned out to be on a bike, with his dog on a leash running beside him. The “boy” was not me, but the dog. Or was the boy me? Did my reaction signal that I still need adulting in the realm of being in a sketchy neighborhood with a flashy camera and a fancy phone, as well as a stash of whiskey, condoms, poetry magazines, and anxiety pills?
Have some strawberries:
Here is how I looked after the Rockaway Boulevard Journey, and on my way out of Baisley Pond Park:
Not a great shot but I generally don’t like what I see when I look in a mirror anyway. I got a good amount of sweat out of me, purging the toxins from the night before. I considered daytime drinking, around 2pm. I’m not supposed to do that with the pills I take but a single beer would not have killed me. Alas, I didn’t spot an inviting place to get a drink, and hopped that A train back to Port Authority. It was Sunday. My usual routine is to consider going to a bar on Braodway in Astoria, but then to change my mind. They are too noisy and crowded for my sensibilities. Parts of 30th Avenue have become like the West Village of yore. I don’t have a problem with it, just not attracted to noise.
I made video of the bus ride down Rockaway Boulevard from Sutphin to Liberty Ave. I had to stop because the heat of the bus and the sun, as it was magnified by the bus window, was causing the cameraphone to overheat. I purchased a gimbal recently but am yet to put it to use. The phone already jas decent stabilization buit in but the gimbal should improve upon that. I don’t know where I think I get the money for this kind of thing. I earn $0 from YouTube and they rejected my application for monetization on the grounds that I’m not professional enough. I am not buttoned up professional or trying to be an influencer. So, no value in what I do. Right?
Trying some of the other blocks and widgets. I don’t dick around with WordPress nearly enough. I resisted the move to blocks, and still use the classic editor from the desktop. But this Jetpacks seems to have no option for reverting back to classic editor, and I’m fine with it. Gotta go.
