Fannin Street

I never believed in hell on earth until I set foot in that mall. I bought two Woody Guthrie CD’s, I would of bought a vinyl record but they were all too expensive and there was nothing I really liked, apart from a single by that junkie, you know, from that band that could of made it really big. You know the one don’t you? I went and saw my friend at her work. She looked pretty, the shop was nice. Small, mock Victorian décor. I’m not sure I’d like to live or work in a place like that, but I suspect I wouldn’t really mind that much, so long as the lights were dim, otherwise I’d be wearing sun glasses all the time and that’d draw a lot of sardonic comments and I don’t think I’d like that. Would you?

I wouldn’t like it if there were too many people either. I don’t mean to dislike so many things and it’s not in an aggressive way. Oh no, that just wouldn’t do. For instance if somebody I didn’t like got run over I’d feel terrible . Well, I probably would. Anyway, I just suppose I like my space, in a society which strikes me as cluttered and messy. But then what can you do?

Do you ever think of all those silly conversations you’ve had? I remember one about a phobia of cheese I don’t actually have. I remember pointing out that if you follow a moving object through a camera’s viewfinder and then take a photo, the background on the print will be blurred while the moving object will be in focus. I was asked why. I couldn’t remember. It made me feel so sad inside. You know, thinking about it, both those conversations were had with my friend from the shop in the mall. Can you remember any silly conversations you’ve had?

I can’t remember any physics or chemistry, mere trivial biology facts at best. Four years and that’s all I’ve got. I can’t even remember reasons leading to the fall of the British Empire and it wasn’t more than six months ago I learnt about that. Maybe my capacity for knowledge is shrinking. It’s ok if I’m not invited to every house party. I’m only an acquaintance to most of these people at the best of times. Too fresh, too new in their minds to be a friend. Besides I’d only stand in their kitchen and go through liner notes for CD’s and look around the room trying to think of an idea for a poem.

By Dann Dos

Copyright October 2005