the fair is good for you.
and when you're a distinct individual,
maybe just a little bit more immediately recognizable than most of the minky,
mincing 'mouflaged mopes who're all dressed alike,
and herd-hustling their uniformity towards the deep-fried oreos,
it's not such a bad thing to be seen actively participating in proximity to the regular people.
hahaha.
not with them, clearly.
that's gross.
but, near them.
that's much better.
mixing in, without the chatting,
and milling around, without the posturing that seems like a mandatory mating ritual
for all the fine young folks coming of age and acting the fool.
i see it all,
i take it in while i wander the paved paths
on my purpose-driven patrol of the patchwork network
of interconnected booths and vendors...
it's a gesture of goodwill towards the grotesqueries of the rural north.
sorta.
i mean,
i'm there, and so are they.
and i bear witness to the ways in which it all interconnects and overlaps,
which, in turn, is both more and less lonesome at the exact same time.
i can't say for certain,
but my way of showing semi-solidarity with the up-here stumplestiltskins
feels a whole lot like it might be reinforcing my firmly-cemented perception
of separation from the source material.
no?
look,
there's more of everyone else looking and acting like everyone else,
and there's only one of me.
that's not good or bad, it just is What Is.
a lot of something accessible and available and easily obtainable,
and just a little of something different.
if majority-rule rules apply,
our close-quartered but separate and unequal spanning of time and space
might be a referendum of odd men being out.
y'know?
sure,
wherever i'm standing is sovereign soil,
surrounded by a philosophical force field of spirit and memory,
and guarded by attention and intention,
with wards of worthy warrior poetry girding my guts,
and guiding my gait, from the gates to the plate and back again.
but that only makes me feel even MORE disconnected from other people
when they're also doing what i'm doing.
because their grind and my grind aren't same thing.
i just don't think enough folks get the subtlety,
i love the fair.
that's real.
but i love it for the incongruity of having vegan magical falafels.
every day, for eight days, in a row-
and not because of the poop-ploppin' flopslappin' oxen
and the guhrossssssss carnival rides...
i s'pose you can't have one without the others in that site-specific situation,
but the bright spot is all i'm there to see,
and not the doo-doo buttery blarpitude out by the back gate.
-
dear creatures of the fair (four-legged, hominid, or otherwise),
i'm also there, and often, the same as you,
but,
i'm not there like you are,
because the way you do it is the way poor people do it,
and that's NOT invited to my makeout party,
which, incidentally,
won't be held on the flippin' sour-cheese-stinking midway.
yuck.
love,
albie
-
hahahahahaha.
oh. c'mon.
i'm mostly kidding a little tiny bit.
i'm just sayin'-
in a freeflowing human mudslide of steel-toed 'academics',
it's good to know i'm navigating my own submarine through the tsunami tide
of prevailing sentiments and style.
i do what i do,
and i do it even when it's kind of a bummer.
ha.
without the bitter, the sweet is just not as sweet,
and maybe that's why i like the falafels so much.
that's the only sugar in a sea of salt,
despite the literal truth of that being nearly completely opposite.
***********
speaking of falafels-
i got the special, yesterday.
yup.
because i'm special.
or,
because i ordered it.
the thing is, it was special, and it was also delicious,
and above all, it had all the hottness in every bite.
but, like, the hottness for real, though,
because it was called the hades,
and it had the v.h.s. hellfire blops all over the place,
taking the heat game to eleven.
mmmmmmmm.
check the double-downed double order of hella tight falafel magic.
teleport:
saturday night at the fair,
shoulder to shoulder with every available otherwise unoccupied necktard
from the woodsly goodness and beyond.
damn.
the traffic was insane,
with longer than long lines of vehicles crawling and creeping in fits and starts
towards the only big deal poppin' off on a brisk october evening.
daaaaaaaaaamn.
i was in the trickle of traffic for longer than i was at the spot, kids.
that's a hard style, for sure.
was i alone again?
obvi.
friends are great, sure.
but, only if they're actually great.
otherwise,
they're just the same as any other people who tolerate being near you fairly well;
and there were already a lot of those skritchers turkey-leggin' along
on every side of me, surrounding me with the steaming exhalations
of fried pickles and greasy hair.
F*.
that's gross.
so,
in the absence of friends,
the solo flight falafel orbit took another 'nother satellite circle
around the gravitational garbanzo greatness,
and i got treated to chef dylan's chef special.
yup.
that's that limited lim' edi' jauns,
and if it's exclusive, and secret, and it's only for the really real duders out there?
well, then, i need it, don't i?
yup.
check the teleport:
yeah.
i did that.
'ganoush, and the fuego sauce,
and that fresh vegetable crawnch.
delicious.
there is only today left to shovel these superior sandwiches into my sharkbiter,
and then it's all finished for a whole 'nother year's worth waiting.\
yes.
that's no joke.
tomorrow,
it's right back to business,
and back to bringing the bite of my own brand of thunder righteously right down
on the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
mmmmhmmmmm.
cooking feels like it stopped happening months ago,
though it's only been a weak week of chick pea cheat meals.
the tahini time warp has stopped a lot of forward motion,
and the pause button needs depressing,
so that the depressing dearth of progress moves out of the way,
and the juggernaut of expert accomplishments gets rolling again.
that's what's up.
today is the day,
and tomorrow needs to be an even better one;
never quiet, never soft.....
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