I’d written up a bit (about five pages worth) of a journal entry in my paper journal earlier today for use here, but don’t feel like using it now. That’s part of it in the picture above.
In my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far-off destinations
So they may have a chance
Of finding a place where
They’re far more suited than here
The entry was mostly about our plans to go see Little Davey’s – yes, the same one from the old Ruta Maya, who I now call by his normal name, David — art show closing party at Cherrywood Coffee this evening. I pondered whether or not seeing some of the old Ruta Maya diaspora members might stir – or further stir – my desire to get to a new city; one like Austin twenty years ago. I told Misty I’d like to watch a city grow up around me again. I probably won’t have the time to see a third.
We also ran into Craig and his dog-pal, Bennie, which was nice. Play date for Bennie and our little Carl on Sunday. (I sound so fucking domesticated.)
There’s a dumpster in the driveway
With all our plans that came undone
We’ve had a hard couple of years. From leaving our house in East Austin to moving to Horseshoe Bay to moving to Leander. Serious health problems. Financial insecurity during the Great Recession. I’d love to move somewhere I can finally find steady employment, Misty can focus on her dreams and we can just enjoy ourselves and the city.
And there is beauty
in a failure
Austin used to work. It had soul – something that could grow. Over the last few weeks, I haven’t been able to get the feeling and vision of Austin’s heart being a semiconductor now. Cold, hard, logical, uncaring. Exactly the things that drive artists away. These are my feelings.
And there is yours
and there is mine
No wonder our first choice of city to move to was New Orleans. Talk about a city with soul but no jobs.
Maybe I’ll never find another city like the one I encountered here at the turn of the century. Or maybe a Cleveland or a St. Louis or a Detroit or Pittsburgh will do.
I didn’t run into many people – aside from David and Craig – who were old-school Ruta Maya people, folks from the 4th and Lavaca shop. Most of these were from the second incarnation on S. Congress. Behind the counter at Cherrywood, however, there seemed to be a collection of old baristas and bartenders from my coffeeshop-and-bar past. It was an odd nostalgia-with-no-real-place. I couldn’t place the people in past situations, but I knew them.
It’s amazing how much people change. If only on the exterior.
Ultimately, it isn’t going to an art closing that makes me want to move on, it’s that idea of once again seeing what I’ve seen but in a broader sense – somewhere else, with new people and surroundings and options.
How could something
Be so cruel
I know you can’t run away from things. Maybe you can’t really run to them either. Does it matter?
(We can talk about the cold and loneliness of my first couple of years in Austin later. But suffice to say it grew into something more. Something, ultimately, more positive. Stories. Friends. Memories. Things I’ve shared — and not.)
P.S. David’s artwork is beautiful. Go find him and buy a piece.