June 24th, 2006

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Mending Wall* - Robert Frost

“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall...”.

It’s me. I’m willing to admit that I am the “something there is”.

While there have been walls that I liked, they tended to be ramshackle, vine-covered and easily overcome. Walls that I could scale, reach into the tree and sit, eating a plum.

In my earliest memory, of walls that is, my cousin, sister and I, armed with hammer and large screwdriver, created a new window into my uncle’s basement. He was not pleased. He had worked very hard to buy a house and build a home for my aunt and cousins. He loved his walls, having earned them.

Not me. I like doors. I like windows. I liked seeing the remains of the Berlin Wall stacked like dominoes in a vacant lot, waiting to be overturned again.

I like open spaces. Last night, working on the street in the rain, after a rap concert let out, flooding the area with police and very loud groups of friends, I retreated to the shelter, not of the truck or trailer, but the shadows under the trees.

I like to keep my options open, not close myself in. No zombies will ever trap me in the cellar. I know not to go into that cabin, into that attic, into that closet, to wait.

It seems I am also quite fond of commas.
*Mending Wall
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There is this character that lives in my head, named Billy Bob Marley. He is a skinny white redneck into pot and reggae. He has a tattoo on his belly that reads THUG LITE and this flag hangs in his bedroom window.

I have no idea what to do with him.
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