All That Moonlight
The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction) Part 15
It has been a world of moonlight, last night and now this morning I am up without having really slept, thinking about Polish amber and the huge full moon set over the Pacific in the foggy mornings in fall when I’d get up for an early ballet class in San Francisco.
I guess I am a bit homesick. Everybody tries to be sophisticated and oh so urban here but it doesn’t really work, the girls wear just a bit too much make-up and everybody spends too much money on the wrong things. It is kind of sad.
What we are good at here in Portland is this homegrown funkinerss. The TBA arts festival and First Thursday and Last Thursday and now they finally finished the theater at the Armory, which is just down the block from where I work at the Gelato place. They are opening with “West Side Story.”
That was my mom’s favorite musical, she’d get a funny far away look in her eyes when she’d hear a bit of one of the orchestral numbers on the Classical radio station we always had on at home.
Anyway, I hope I can score a ticket before the run ends. I am broke again. Too many cigarettes and this hand knitted green wrap sweater. Some people eat comfort foods, I buy comfort clothes, okay?
This thing happened recently with this guy and I am still tender and trying to write a poem about it but nothing is working. I have muses, you know, it has always been like this since Michel. Instead I drape myself on furniture and sigh and think about all the art I’ve been seeing.
My favorite was these clay sculptures, a bit larger than life size in yoga poses but they are not yoga sculptures. It is hard to explain, they are how a particular eye that is connected to a particular brain that has something interesting to say about the human condition sees yoga poses.
I suppose you could say I am addled by too much moonlight and longing.
Ron has added WiFi to the store so people will come in and buy dessert and coffee after they go to a reading at Powells. It will mean more guys will come over and spend more time.
Melancholy old guys, like the guy I know Duncan, who always wears a beret in winter and goes to film festivals and likes to flirt with pretty young women but has absolutely nothing to offer them except stories of a glorious and wild past. Salad days.
It gets tiresome, all that magical thinking and wistfulness. I hope somebody shoots me before I get like that, truly I do.
It has been a world of moonlight, last night and now this morning I am up without having really slept, thinking about Polish amber and the huge full moon set over the Pacific in the foggy mornings in fall when I’d get up for an early ballet class in San Francisco.
I guess I am a bit homesick. Everybody tries to be sophisticated and oh so urban here but it doesn’t really work, the girls wear just a bit too much make-up and everybody spends too much money on the wrong things. It is kind of sad.
What we are good at here in Portland is this homegrown funkinerss. The TBA arts festival and First Thursday and Last Thursday and now they finally finished the theater at the Armory, which is just down the block from where I work at the Gelato place. They are opening with “West Side Story.”
That was my mom’s favorite musical, she’d get a funny far away look in her eyes when she’d hear a bit of one of the orchestral numbers on the Classical radio station we always had on at home.
Anyway, I hope I can score a ticket before the run ends. I am broke again. Too many cigarettes and this hand knitted green wrap sweater. Some people eat comfort foods, I buy comfort clothes, okay?
This thing happened recently with this guy and I am still tender and trying to write a poem about it but nothing is working. I have muses, you know, it has always been like this since Michel. Instead I drape myself on furniture and sigh and think about all the art I’ve been seeing.
My favorite was these clay sculptures, a bit larger than life size in yoga poses but they are not yoga sculptures. It is hard to explain, they are how a particular eye that is connected to a particular brain that has something interesting to say about the human condition sees yoga poses.
I suppose you could say I am addled by too much moonlight and longing.
Ron has added WiFi to the store so people will come in and buy dessert and coffee after they go to a reading at Powells. It will mean more guys will come over and spend more time.
Melancholy old guys, like the guy I know Duncan, who always wears a beret in winter and goes to film festivals and likes to flirt with pretty young women but has absolutely nothing to offer them except stories of a glorious and wild past. Salad days.
It gets tiresome, all that magical thinking and wistfulness. I hope somebody shoots me before I get like that, truly I do.
posted by NokoRose at 7:10 AM
2 Comments:
The musings of Rose can't help but fascinate and leave you wanting more.
I love that photo! Just read the recent four posts and enjoyed your writing of Rose's thoughts on life :) Forgot my own password I guess lol so I'll just tell you this Fearless Dreamer. Hope you're having a good time doing this blog. See you again soon at the other place. FD
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