What's Kinda F-ed is That I will be 49 when this happens again

The moon, wandering alone between the stars and the clouds, every 18 years can no longer resist the pull of the Earth, and has to come closer. Just for a visit right? Just a quick romp and back to business as usual. It doesn't, like, mean anything. It's not like the moon is looking for anything serious. The moon has other things to think about after all, like its wide circle of friends, and all those various moon projects it's got going on.

And after all, there is the serious danger that the earth will swallow the moon whole, just pull it crashing into pieces in the center of it, and then everything will explode and look, that could totally happen at any second. You don't know the plan of the universe. Sure it all seems like clockwork and surety, but if everything's a cycle, and it's all in little increments of years, but then those increments get longer and longer the bigger you go, then how do you know that some unknown crazy millennium long cycle isn't going to come due, like, tomorrow? How do you know for sure that it isn't the very end of the cycle right now? There's a beginning and an end, and we have no idea where either one is. Things are ending and beginning all around us all the time.

Everyone here on earth is walking around in their own private cycles, and they keep bumping into other people's cycles willy nilly (I see a mass of people all wearing hula hoops, wandering around aimlessly in bumper car dance patterns, that's us). That seems to keep working. Only very once in a while does something get severely derailed, and then the huge human system just starts to work the wound clean and closed again. Like ants. Or blood cells coagulating and skin cells regrowing. So the moon tells itself that hey maybe it doesn't matter what happens, you just gotta do what you feel like, what the universal forces are telling you to. The moon is a little bit of a fatalist, though if you corner it one night at a party, it will furiously deny it. The moon is made of contradictions.

Also it's patently incapable of not being in a story. Like, if something just makes sense at the time, then why try to resist the tentacles of light rising up from the great glowing cities on the dark continents? It's so pretty and sparkly and the moon had forgotten how fun it was to get as close as possible to the bulbs, until it can see spots and colors on the back of it's moon eyelids.

And then rush back again, a moon rabbit, to sense and sensibility. Having adventures.

A Few Bits From This Weekend

Going in here didn't have it's usual thrill for me. I mean, I was thrilled in the "look where I am" sort of way. But what really depressed me was all the water. It had poured the day before, but was clear that morning. Inside though, even on the third floor, with like at least three floors above me, there was water just pouring down the walls and collecting on the walkways. Most of the buildings I go into have already been abandoned a long time ago, and are more landscape than useful structure. But this place didn't have to be this way, if only someone would fix the roof. It will be completely unusable as anything else within the year. And I thought they were going to sell it? Or remake it? Or something. It's just a proud old building where people used to do good things, and now it's just being left to rot away under the rain. It makes me sad for it. But I'll probably go back, like some voyeuristic bone picker. The Wasteland isn't all fun and games. It's also, you know, waste.


On a happier, cheerier note, have I mentioned how much I love The Sign Guy? I suppose as long as there's always one guy like that in Tremont, we'll all stay sane there.

I'm getting the whole biking thing. I like it. But its still so painful. Here is a picture of us, or rather them, fixing their bikes, the curse of the "bringing the bike out at the end of summer" crowd. But it worked out in the end, and they didn't get too frustrated when I had to turn around because my legs were trembling after a paltry few miles. Because they are nice. My bike's name, meaning the actual name on the frame cause I don't name my modes of transport, is the Stump Jumper. I couldn't really beat that anyway. I don't feel up to that bike. It wants to go offroad, and tackle fallen logs, and be all cool and shit. I want to coast along silent and slow, maintaining my balance and trying not to freak out when passing dogs.



I was waiting for them back at the parking lot, and ran into two old ladies who told me about monkey balls, that fall off a certain tree, and will keep spiders and centipedes away if you leave them in a dish in a corner. Which prompted us to poach some, or rather prompted me to make my friends help me get some for my house, because I hate centipedes in my personal space. They should be called monkey brains, since that's what they look like, not balls. They are kind of hairy though.

Jere was missing, kidnapped? on Monday, so Charity and I went driving around the Flats. I know it looks sunny, but Monday was the first real day of Fall. Look at the clouds, you can tell.


I don't think I will ever get tired of living by the river. Or rust. I'm really partial to rust. But I wonder how many pictures of the glass factory I will take in my life. I will make a collage of all them someday. It's just endlessly fascinating to me. I keep hoping to find another huge purple glass skull of discarded melt, like the one we found a decade ago, that I think got stolen when that Chevy did.


After driving around for bit, we went to the West Side Market. We were bored. I tried to take a few shots, but the market is so utilitarian to me, and not as interesting as it was when I was a kid. It's where old Polish ladies buy blood sausage for Easter, or where that used to be. I didn't see any blood sausage there that day, but I certainly saw enough jalapeno sausage. What is the world coming too? I'm sure it was the Monday light that did it, but I searched for that raspberry yogurt I used to get, and all I found were tightly wrapped cheeses from other places not Ohio. It's good. It's just not old world good.


I bought some jerky, a few slices of Swiss, half a cheese apricot strudel, and a large kosher pickle.
Later, my headlights both went out at the same time, and today I got my first loaner car from a mechanic, who by the way constantly refers to me as married, though I'm definitely not. I don't correct him. Sometimes it's an advantage to have them think you have a husband. Winter is coming.

Random pics of Destruction

I know, I know. What's up with all the firework pictures lately Bridget? Can't find anything more interesting to show us? Well first of all, fireworks are the Rorschach test of my dreams. In my world, the entire cityscape is the canvas for my sick interpretations of reality and nightmare, and you all just gape and deal with it.

Second, I took a lot of pictures on July 4th.

Third, these are not actually fireworks, July 4th just happened to be a date of catastrophe for the City of Cleveland.


Catastrophe Exhibit# 1: An immense monster, towering hundreds of feet above the skyscrapers, emerged from the lake. The lake water slid off its muddy pelt in a torrential waterfall, completely destroying the beaches and marinas with a tidal wave of shipwrecked waverunners and confused sheephead. It's eyes were giant glittery orbs, vacant and robotic, and it barely noticed the city as it followed the river south to its true prey, Canton.


Catastrophe Exhibit #2: Evil baseball hating aliens from Epsilon Eridani B bombard the stadium with death rays. Thank god that the Downtown Cleveland Alliance spent all that money putting a force field over it.

Oh.


Catastrophe Exhibit #3: The Rock Bottom Brewery explodes.