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hyde park gate

a travel blog by i_could_kneel



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buildings rise overnight

London, United Kingdom

Vietnam war in my stomach. for two days. the windows were all painted shut but we finally heaved them open. the road and a child playing in the alley dulled the constant slam of doors and cupboards. i need to climb up. catch a bus. it's hard not to panic when you've been here three weeks already. i had some water and greg said, "i think this trip is more about getting to know all the people you live with than exploring london." i nodded, but gently pushed what he said away.

i made it out in my dress for high tea . the hesitant warmth spilled onto the street and the park from the tenth floor of a hotel and i stung much less.

"and we don't care about the young folks, talkin' bout the young style, and we don't care about the old folks, talkin' 'bout the old style too, all we care about is talking, talking only me and you."

permalink written by  i_could_kneel on February 1, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: hyde park gate
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commonwealth

London, United Kingdom

i set my alarm for six thirty. and i get up because my clothes are waiting. my shoes have their tongues hanging out. i run in the park where there are no angry coughing buses. just a commuter on a bike, statues, both stoic. it's so dark it could really could be Taiwan or Paris. soon the sun will be stretching out it's old joints and the park will go from fog to technicolor, in mostly green mud.
but i can see a flouresence that's trying to catch the weakest bits of light. it's a yellow vest. a park worker cleaning up the careless remains of saturday. then i'm closer and i can see that he's bowing, murmuring prayers that disinegrate and spread just like dandelions. islam. but i don't know the name of the prayers. i know the names of the royal families. york. Lancaster. Windsor. elizbeth ii is behind the mechanical wave, daughter of george vi. but here i am all dressed in my ragged breath and i just feel ignorant. he's got all the quiet dignity of seasons, repititon and passion all tangled up. maybe i'm all hopped up on endorphins but i feel like maybe i've been reading diversity like a t-shirt tag. london is 55% white, 17% indian, etc. etc. wash in cold. handle with care. i'll shower and feel better. he'll swallow the last bits of prayer with breakfast. but he and i begin the day the same, looking for peace and clarity. dew on socks. dew on hands. a good stretch with the sun.

permalink written by  i_could_kneel on February 5, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
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flat

London, United Kingdom

my sleep pattern is so fucked up by my apartment. by the heavy door that slams. the gin in coffee mugs. and the girl talking about the blow job she gave in the back of taxi.
i don't really mind as long as there is a period when everyone is gone. lizzie sings in the shower. if there's bread that's vegan, we make toast while her hair dries. and then slice up a mango. exclaim wonder at evolution of natural fruit sugar and the pattern of giraffe hair. she eats the mango skin and i turn up al green on her computer. we yell and roll around talking about steinbeck.
but everyone is hanging around today. i buggered my knee and i'm bored. i read all day, listen to someone bitch about about the state of kitchen and a discussion of kevin spacey's sexuality. and i am angry that my knee hurts and i can't leave and walk. and that i trusted my bones to thin umbrella tendons for protection from a downpour of blue veins, of fucking gravity. and that i'm hungry and that i've finished cannery row. "how can the poem and the stink and the grating noise-the quality of light, the tone, the habit and the dream-be set down alive? when you collect marine animals there are certain flat worms so delicate that they are almost impossible to capture whole, for they break and tatter under the touch. you must let them ooze and crawl of their own will onto a knife blade and then lift them gently into your bottle of sea water."

permalink written by  i_could_kneel on February 24, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: hyde park gate
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london, you grandparent

London, United Kingdom

on the way to buy an apple and a pear, i found a scarf on the sidewalk, dabbing the slim wrists of the street with a smell like cherry tobacco.
i try to recognize myself in you, london. you grandparent. you practical gift giver. but it obvious our childhoods were so different.
it is obvious that you recognize in me, the buds, draped over your sturdy, breadcrust walls, who've already stopped wearing their jackets, their pink insides trembling.


permalink written by  i_could_kneel on March 16, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
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awake and sleep say a few words in passing before a shift change

London, United Kingdom

sometimes, when i dream
you're around again
i want to demand that
something be left behind
for the eye opening.
like storms, who talk
all night and then leave
a bunch of sticks for you to pick up.

i'd rather clean up
a real mess,
shake out a knotted muscle,
rest and rub it for a few minutes
than look for a neat rip
i've only felt
in what i'd guess is a pocket
i often hear your absence jangling from





permalink written by  i_could_kneel on March 31, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: hyde park gate
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