Stranger in a Known Land

I've pretty much become a stranger in my own town. Well, it's not really a town, more an inner suburb of a sprawling metropolis that is becoming more style over substance every year; unnecessarily, as it has always been blessed with the most natural beauty. This area in which I've either lived or worked (or both) for more years than I care to remember is now attracting its own tourists from other parts of the city... country... world. You can pick them from a mile away: couples & families pointing at the gays & the punks & the freaks, but these people probably know more about the attractions of the main strip than I do, have eaten in more of the "hot" restaurants. I am happy in my quiet little corner & only venture into the fray from time to time prompting the question: Am I the real tourist?

They are conspicuous by their cars gridlocking the main drag, both by the makes & the fact that no local is foolish enough to drive their car into the centre of town. This place used to be considered too dirty, too gritty, too dangerous for any respectable types to want to visit, yet now here they are trawling the markets for quaint knick-knacks & local products like tote bags that some hippie chick who doesn't shave everywhere that perhaps she should has woven from her own dreadlocks; here they are trying to navigate their way through the swarms of activists passing out flyers about bringing down the government; here they are congratulating themselves for being so on-the-pulse as to spend a Saturday afternoon in the new weekend destination du jour.

Here they are setting upon this place like voracious ants on a weakened & dying cockroach. One might say it's good for the local economy, that is, someone who's not trying to rent or buy somewhere to live at a reasonable price.

Scratchy Broken Pencil

I am hurt
And it was I wielding the knife
With a scratchy broken pencil
I drew the map of this ragged life
If there was anyone else to blame
The result would be the same
Inspiration has crossed my path
But never called to me by name
Perhaps it's always been there
A whisper I couldn't hear
I know where to lay the blame
The upshot all the same
If I could heed the call
Hold my head up tall
What could really be
Would it turn out differently...

The Sound

I heard it in the late evening, a sound so foreign that it was difficult to figure what it could be. The more I tried to focus on it the further its definition seemed to recede from my mind's grasp. I was sitting on my back deck smoking the last cigarette of the day, as I like to do right before locking up & turning out the lights & heading to bed. It's funny the perverse enjoyment one gets when engaging in an activity known to be harmful… it's amazing how calming it can be to slowly destroy oneself. That's not the intent, of course, but it's there.

The sound it seemed was coming from my neighbour's yard on the other side of a fence about 10 feet from where I sat. It appeared as though my neighbour had gone out for the evening, though there was a light on in one of the windows. I felt that I should probably refrain from attempting to clamber – or even peer – over the fence & as it was quite dark I wouldn't have seen much anyway. I did however take my cigarette lighter & crept up to the fence, squinting through the gaps barely illuminated by the tiny flame. As I did so the sound – which at this point I was certain was being made by a living creature – quietened, giving me the feeling that I was also being observed & that "it" had a better view than I did. I moved back to my chair & as I did so the sound rose again. I strained my ears & even as quiet as it was I couldn't figure out the nature of the sound. Assuming that it was indeed a creature of some sort, it almost sounded in pain, yet at the same time vaguely threatening. There tends not to be a lot of wildlife roaming the area except for the odd cat & as I'm quite familiar with the range of sounds they make, I knew it wasn't a cat.

Strangely, all thoughts of the sound disappeared the moment I went back inside, though obviously they have returned to my mind later, thereby allowing me to relay the experience. However, I enjoy the fact that certain moments & the thoughts they contain can exist as their own little microcosm. I don't expect to ever find out what that sound was, but that's OK.