Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Saxophone.

Again, I don't know what to write about yet, but I've sort of made a promise to myself to write at least something every day. So, again, here we go.

I originally thought I would blog about pop culture, a la Perez Hilton or the guy at Dlisted. I love reading that stuff because it goes down so easy, and, well, it's really juicy. I'm not ashamed of my habit, no, not ashamed that I haven't missed an update from either in probably about a year, or that I can't wait until 1 p.m. at work when I can guiltlessly pull up their bright, obnoxious homepages, but I could never write it. They all write the same thing, and they all write about the people who don't matter, and make them a sort of important. I want to write about the people who matter, and maybe make them important. Some sort of important.

Eh... drawing a blank today. The primaries are on in the background. I want to say that I care, but I don't. No, not really. They all say the same thing, and all the newspapers write the same story, and they are made a sort of important. If the issues were made important instead of the people then I might lift an eyelid, but he-said-this-she-said-this-he's-not-this-enough-she-did-this-enough-or-not-enough-or-what-is-enough-and-storied-family-and-great-American-and-dream-and-revolution-change-and-year-after-year-after-year-after-and I am oh, where are we? Unimportant.

There was a man playing tenor sax between the train tracks today. I don't think I'd ever heard a tenor sax between the trains; it's a sharp sound but also smooth. It was all flourish and upanddown and whirring, like windmills, and his fingers climbed like a spider rushing from a stream of water chasing him down a wall after the rain. He leaned back like it was sucking all the air out of all of him but he still smiled, a confident smile but a humble smile, like I should not be here, playing for your quarters, I know I am too good for them but thank you for them anyway, more please and I will smile bigger. A little girl dropped into the begging case by his feet a handful of change that her dad had handed her, she probably tugged on his shirt and said 'Daddy, what is he doing?' and Daddy didn't have the heart to tell her, sweetie, you don't want to be like him though yes he sounds good or support him though, oh, oh, hear that note, it brings back memories of that time when and don't look at him, he's what I never hope you will be, but please, learn an art, honey, sometime in your life, yes please, find something so beautiful and get lost in it honey, escape, for a minute, this ugly world, but don't get too close, so he put the change in her hand, 'Here, now come back quickly.' Every few measures he would hold out a note and do a little vibrato.. and I hadn't heard a vibrato, the wonderful, slow and painful shakeshakeshake, in a while and I held it on my tongue until the train came.

1 comment:

Benjamin said...

Raquel, please keep this up. I like reading what you write.