a handful of rain

i turned up my radio and there comes stormy monday of allman brothers. now that's what i would describe as poetic.

the world's upside down today--i woke up to the rain and the wind and all the rest, full on natural disaster afoot. it hasn't been raining ever since noon, but people are still trying to pick up the pieces. we took a walk down the roads to see what was happening, and man, a lot had been happening.

first and foremost, the humane desire to see and recognize destruction is just plain awesome. people seem to be flocking only to see cars upside down, bridges fallen, trucks floating carelessly through the now flooded highways. and children--dragged outside by the parents who are after finding something to be thankful for in their own miseries-- just randomly run around. they don't really care about anything beneath the surface, you know. it's just plain fun to see 5 people trying to turn a wrecked car upside down. but they are still so beautiful, even in all that mud and craziness, they just play games, chasing one another down the road, they hold each others' hands, peeking once in a while over the barriers to see what's happening. long story short, it's weird to watch people react to unfortunate events. you know, as Whitman would put it in a slightly different concept, the wonder is always in a mean man or an infidel.

anyways, the electricity was off all day, so I had a chance to get down with The Town And The City. it's so weird ( i really need to start finding more adjectives, i really do) you know, it's so neat and orderly, and so not like Kerouac, but just juicy in its way of showing you where Kerouac had been before. there's more to it, but i'll hold my tongue until i'm done.

so what was i talking about? right, destruction, disaster, endings, pain, misery...gotta admit they're appealing people. sometimes, a disturbing feeling pierces me through the heart, and i wonder if we all just randomly go after the sudden combustion, if we all just admire the poet, the rock star, the beautiful one only because at the end of the day, the Morrison kind always burns itself out. and that's the kind we look for. that's the kind we seem to cherish. the kind we seem to love, once we are all blinded by the explosion, by the million lights.