just around the corner from my home, across
Yesler, twenty giant steps~ can take you back into a time when we were all poor, the economy was sitting in the basement, all the storefronts were boarded up, with old guys living inside, without water or electricity~
driving old beaters like this, scrapping metal, picking up junk, driving slow, with no direction
i see them as i creep around, staring at hoods, invisible tools, sold off, stolen, in workers green coveralls with huge white basketball shoes, thin old ghosts~
this vehicle rarely moves, i think it's waiting for some parts to come in from china
fantastic patina of mold upon the hood of a once mighty
crewcab
back when nobody owned a
crewcab, this guy constructed things, decks and wheelchair ramps for old diabetics, basement bars for connected playboys, in lavender suits and
Kangol's
now the truck just sits while old guys wait for this economy to hustle~ maybe we need a new
Convoy song to brighten our days and pull us into the new economy, one of intellectual pursuits, but where can these men fit within a concept of invention, innovation and technologies structure ?
who will install our ghetto gate front doors, our bars for the windows, when we are all hiding within our little fortress homes pleading to our cellphones for work
quick someone throw a prop under this roof, and save that mustang, move that Capri out of the way, is it a Capri, i cant recall, wake up the men sleeping it off in the back seat, Microsoft wants our land, Starbucks wants our mornings, Seattle University wants our young, Swedish* wants our corpses full of cash, the future belongs to pretty things in shiny cars, polished sunglasses, frosted lips and wired to an outside world with no connection to neighborhood
my townhouse neighbors hate me because i talk to them and am always in the front yard waiting to wave and ruin their little dog walks, and i, love them for being uncomfortable, wealthy and white
N~
* the hospital two blocks north of here
i've been trying like heck and high water to capture the shear beauty and disposable charms of this car and driver~
today is all about the early seventies, this aqua colored ford PU was parked over at Lowe's and i couldn't get a lot of pictures, some kid sitting in the middle kept staring at me~
this puppy was parked in the rain while the owner went to buy a half rack, came out and told me his whole muscle car life story
a beaut~ huh ?
long life the seventies~ shit yeah~
i saw this little shit parked in the alley behind Tacoma Screw, Georgetown, i thought it was a Rambler or some such
turned out to be Mercedes station wagon, and you know i love station wagons, love the subtle fins, and the blackberries growing in the hole where the grill had been~ during European reconstruction
Rico's wheels parked at the jetty + Rico
we both have flat black painted rims, both have brown vans, but his has some sweet pinstripes
and some sick little back windows
perved out over this pre-war Ford woody
so huge, green and shiny, must have been headed out to some old guy's car show
gorgeous~
that's it baby
just around the corner from my home, across Yesler, twenty giant steps~ can take you back into a time when we were all poor, the economy was sitting in the basement, all the storefronts were boarded up, with old guys living inside, without water or electricity~
driving old beaters like this, scrapping metal, picking up junk, driving slow, with no direction
i see them as i creep around, staring at hoods, invisible tools, sold off, stolen, in workers green coveralls with huge white basketball shoes, thin old ghosts~
this vehicle rarely moves, i think it's waiting for some parts to come in from china
fantastic patina of mold upon the hood of a once mighty crewcab
back when nobody owned a crewcab, this guy constructed things, decks and wheelchair ramps for old diabetics, basement bars for connected playboys, in lavender suits and Kangol's
now the truck just sits while old guys wait for this economy to hustle~ maybe we need a new Convoy song to brighten our days and pull us into the new economy, one of intellectual pursuits, but where can these men fit within a concept of invention, innovation and technologies structure ?
who will install our ghetto gate front doors, our bars for the windows, when we are all hiding within our little fortress homes pleading to our cellphones for work
quick someone throw a prop under this roof, and save that mustang, move that Capri out of the way, is it a Capri, i cant recall, wake up the men sleeping it off in the back seat, Microsoft wants our land, Starbucks wants our mornings, Seattle University wants our young, Swedish* wants our corpses full of cash, the future belongs to pretty things in shiny cars, polished sunglasses, frosted lips and wired to an outside world with no connection to neighborhood
heinous~ is the only word to describe the way i had to treat my van last week, after the water heater catastrophically exploded, 80 gallons or more into the basement
all the wet moldy carpeting had to be cut up and taken to the dump, groooossss !
had to drive with the windows open and the water pouring out the slider~ heinous
one of the neighbours has two homes and three empty lots around the corner and had collected comets and other such vehicles, now he just moves them around the hood, whenever the city tags them
this little willy's jeep he must really love, he parks it at home, kind of, don't think it runs
this bay window, don't get out much either, parked on his empty lot~ all the cars he keeps are pretty much shitpigs, why does he bother, they can't be restored, really, they're all too far gone
so he covers them in plastic, and shuffles them around the streets, named after trees, alder, spruce and fir
