thoughts towards independence day

in bellingham, on elm, waiting for a bus to take me to fairhaven. the view towards the north is a regular rhythm of porch piedments. the counter rhythm is runners making the most of this long day in a short summer.

the bus comes and transfers me to fairhaven: everyone is speaking the patois of the pacific northwest to a soundtrack of sufyan phillips. we are all heartbreakingly cool, spiraling around a core of nihilism. the headlines say we are more optimistic this week, but i feel as if i am at a new masque of the red death, where the little face-masques on bamboo elegant handles have been replaced by bmw's or saabs or mercedes-benzes. we handle them by power steering wheels, but they just let us feel we're in control. all the roads we follow so carefully lead to baghdad.

around the world this sunny morning, bombs are falling, dawn's early light still challenged by the rocket's red glare.

here in the cafe, we are safe. smoking is not allowed.