sir funks in the trunks

queensryche: the band, the myth, the legend This isn’t a democracy, it’s a CHEERocracy.


Washington DC is drunk again. This city is much too much sometimes, and certainly not enough other times. The world spins around and around, like a really bad movie trailer for the piece of shit ‘Clockwatchers.’ (I feel like that movie stars the Malcom in the Middle kid, but maybe not)’you know what I’m talking about though, the one where the kid has the magic watch that stops time. Or maybe it’s that he’s moving extremely fast, so fast that others around him are super slow.

I feel like that, but the opposite. Like I watch things in slow motion, but in reality they are moving much, much faster than me, spinning into and out of lives with the snap of fingers, fast fast fast. New jobs. New relationships. New marriages and children and grandchildren and old age and before my life even lurched forward a little new deaths.

Snap snap snap.

At the same time, I feel fortunate that maybe I’m the slow one. We win the race, right? Maybe getting to watch it all spin is my gift. Maybe I’m the lucky one, because they all are nothing but dust before I even snap once.


Hi You,Remember, I had just met you, a semester before, and barely knew you? A few weeks later I left, but I sent you that postcard from Venice? I wrote to you all about how the city had been ravaged for thousands of years by a history of tides, an unprotected chain of islands built on wobbly rotting stilts, the city’s own beauty and uniqueness slowly eating away at it’s mortar, stone and wood.
Natives and restorers now grow concerned, and so they turned to technology as their savior. What was first designed to be protective now ultimately and ironically may be leading to the city’s demise. And so as Venice is sinking, The Scientists have built a great set of iron gates that will rise from the seafloor; controlling the ebb and flow of the lagoon’when the tide gets too high and flooding creeps slowly through the city, the gates will rise and block off the water and the city will be safe for a while. The sun will shine, the rich will keep their antiques dry, hotels can keep their caf’ tables out in the sun for writers and romantics and lost tourists. The pigeons can flock again to San Marco square, eating the city-sponsored bird food sprinkled liberally with birdie-birth control to control population. Bells will ring for Mass.

But even as the city is saved by those great underwater gates, new problems emerge. Because it is blocked off from new flows, the water in the lagoon is changed, the salinity level rising and killing off important ecosystems, life. Perhaps any industry around Venice that isn’t’ involved with tourism or manufacturing will be crippled, fishing dried up. The economy will have to then pick up, to match pace and provide jobs, to keep the city stable, which will lead to more pollution, and then ugliness as Venice falls back into clouds of black smoke and smell and disrepair.

In July 99 the water was just growing clear again, the smells faint even in the hot sun, and to use the now-ironic Italianesque theme, life was beautiful. And I sat and wrote a postcard to you near the expensive bar where F. Scott Fitzgerald used to order his grappa.

At one time, you were my iron gates- you kept trying to protect me from flooding. Instead you unknowingly complicated things, caused other problems, and killed off all the fucking sea life.

Now that is some crazy shit.


Listening to: The Pixies, Doolittle.

1 Response to “sir funks in the trunks”

  • I remember walking around Venice early one morning only to notice a father off in a corner helping his 5 year old daughter pull up her skirt, lean back and pee in the canal just like daddy does.

    Must’ve been European…

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