the filth and the beauty

It's cold out there these days. Not as cold as it's going to be but cold compared to the previous months. I've been experimenting with my cap, trying to find that balance between how much to fold it up without sacrificing fashion or heat. I don't want to show too much ear, lest the ladies get overly excited, and we all know how dangerous that can be....

Caught a glimpse of the skyline the other day. Nighttime. Unblemished. So beautiful. Once I was on a date with a girl who grew up here. We were driving across some bridge and we caught a similar glance and I asked her if she ever gets bored of it. "No, I never do," she said. I saw her a couple more times but it never went anywhere. She was too tall, anyway, almost like one of those skyscrapers.

I see it all the time, the skyline, from every angle-- up close, within the caverns of stone and steel, from the non-slip surface of the sailboat I crewed on, from the softball fields and the smelt-fishing docks, from the various condos of clients at various heights, from the distance of a haze-tinted suburb... and it never gets old. It's forever a presence, demanding nothing but occasional bouts of respect. Too often people ignore it, take it for granted, or are simply too busy and distracted to pay attention.

Do ants know they live on a hill? Do we?

There are times when the skyline catches me off guard. I'm surprised by the geometric poetry of the buildings, their collective majesty, their sense of purpose and permanence. I'm impressed and humbled, and grateful. The density of people, the productivity of capitalism, the filth and the beauty, armies of I-beams, miles of wire, each building a big bad fuck you to the pessimists and the non-dreamers out there.

They used to land blimps on top of the Empire State Building. It takes gall to ride the sky, kiss a cloud and then mount a skyscraper.