Walking

With my IPOD blazing through my 'Workout' playlist, I walk to work. As I walk, I'm bombarded with what I see as the very essence of this broken city of Baltimore. This is what I see:

Churches. Churches everywhere, you pick whichever denomination of protestantism you like... Baptist, the first Balimore parish of Angliglican-Catholic church, AME (african methodist-episocapal), Pentacostal, even.

Store fronts with the obvious signs of past vibrance, now empty, vacant, and abandoned. The only shops still bustling with life (to me are like squatters in these regal old buildings) are liquor stores filled with hopeful patrons buying over-priced single bottles of beer, cigarettes, and what they hope will be their lucky lotto ticket.

On one corner, a drug treatment program with the motto 'Recovery starts here' resides. I tend to walk on the other side of the street when I get to this block b/c no matter the time of day, there are always numbers of people hanging outside. In my head, I imagine that they actually live out there from their numerous smoke breaks thinking of past days, past drugs. I have no problem with drug-doers, hell, I've done my share. However as I, currently battle my own benign tobacco addiciton, I have a unique perspective on craving and know how little it takes to relapse and that in their cases, i feel that the need might just justify the means of getting that fix. I'm generally not willing to be that means seeing as the only think I'd care about even losing is my most prized birthday gift, my 30GB video Ipod and treasure in its own right.

I pass bus stop after bus stop all stationed with cold, tired people either wearily heading to or from work, all with eyes that look up eagerly at each passing car hoping it's their late-arriving bus.

Three hospitals mark my route; one at the start and two face-off with each other in my homeward stretch towards work. The first is old, brick, and tired with equally matching people shuffling towards it. I never see doctors in white coats fashioned with their flashy, high-tech ID badges in front of this hospital. I never see any doctors at all actually. In stark contrast, the most impressive of the two final hospitals is adorned with the shiny appearance of good funding. Fancy valet parking guys stand outside , as if the people arriving here are entering a fancy resteraunt or maybe a high-end vacation resort. Doctors, nurses, technicians, glistening new wheelchairs, hot dog vendors all surround this hospital at all hours. It appears to be the kind of place you go to get healed, whereas the first hospital resembles something more like a place you go to be ignored, hurt and then possibly die.

In between these two clinical landmarks lies Lexington Market. My fast-paced walk slows when I enter this portion of my gaunt, not because I enjoy the area, but mostly b/c there are so many law-enforcement personel lingering that I lower my city dweller guard a bit realizing i won't have to run very far if I just so happen to need assistance. If someone were to blindfold and spin me around as if playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, I'd know I was here just based on the sounds and smells. These smells tend to make me nauseous. Overflowing dumpsters filled with all manner of raw and cooked rotting meats and vegetables awaiting pick up, litter swirling around my legs, the paperman giving cry for interested customers, street vendors with their tiny bottles of concentrated essenses named things like musk and sex, the poisonous fumes of nail salons making acrylic nails and removing polish, the rumble of the ground from the subway below all announce my arrival in lexington. With my sight, I always notice the number of obviously high and drunk people, especially so because of the early hour of day. The area also house a pecular concentration of pay phones, pawn shops, and check cashing establishments and abandoned articles of clothing, personal belongings, and fake discarded hair.

During my final blocks, the scenery changes drastically like a sentence that's been half erased on a blackboard. Clean streets, newly renovated old factory buildings cramed full with ridiculously priced condos, apartments, and lofts rented to equally ridiculous wannabe city dwellers. Abutted against these buildings is a starbucks, and then, the hippodrome annoucing in brightly colored posters the great theatre productions to play and currently playing .

I do love this city.

Don't assume I want to talk to to you

Ode to the drunk guy on the subway:

I'm very sorry you had to work construction today, the coldest day of this very warm new year.

However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.

Yes, we have a lot of things in common.

We both ride baltimore's most pathetic attempt at public transportation.

However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.

We share the same glass-eyed, glazed-over expression in our eyes; Yours from the 2 almost-empty bottles of booze in your outer pockets; mine from numbness.

However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.

Just leave me to my hypothermia, I kind of like the coldness in the air. it sort of matches the recent chill in my heart.

Hey, maybe i will have a swig off that bottle.

Thanks, man.

Dying to self

I am alive.

I am an eating, sleeping, shitting, living and breathing organism once again. I was dead for about a week, but like Jesus Christ, I arose. Like him, I walked amongst friends for a few days, unfortunately, I did not ascend to heaven after my hanging out was done. Instead of ascencion, i went to work. Albeit, a new work, but work nonetheless.

I think this may be my 4th life in a year, seeing as I've died approximately 3 times in the last 365 days. But that's not important really. What is important is this new existence. What shall I do with it? Make the same mistakes and die again? I sure as hell hope not.